


Fragmentation

by applecup



Series: A Series Of Choices And Actions [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 102,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecup/pseuds/applecup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humility is not a quality becoming of a Sith, and doubly so for the Emperor's Wrath, but like all things has its time and place. A lack of it was what undid Eirnhaya Illte, who found herself crumpled at the feet of the Dread Masters, their rescuer and their victim all at once. It's their prophecy and promise that ruins her the most, though, even as she struggles against the treachery of others: that they will meet again, and this time perhaps finish what they started...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Consternation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wrong words in the wrong place at the wrong time to the wrong people, and your whole world falls apart. Nowhere is this more true than at the feet of the Dread Masters.

Eirnhaya regretted her words as soon as she'd said them.

Nobody locked away in the depths of Belsavis would be a normal prisoner, Sith or otherwise. She should have remembered that; should have reminded herself of that even after her master's sister had been crushed, and her other goal - the Empire's goal, the lie she used as an excuse to be here - had finally been reached.

The Dread Masters, all looking faintly ridiculous in their robes and masks, and all - until very recently - used as little more than batteries by the rampaging Esh-Ka. They should have been grateful, and she'd said as much, old habits working her mouth before her brain could intervene. Where Jedi humbled themselves before their masters, Sith sparred - verbally, literally - testing each other's limits, daring each other to cross lines that should not be crossed. 

These were no ordinary Sith, though, and Eirn's words hadn't even finished echoing around the room before she felt its temperature drop - the tiny hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end, the _you shouldn't have done that_ flit across her mind and send a shiver down her spine.

She didn't hear the words - wasn't even sure there _were_ words, just an awareness of a sentiment, cold and hostile, calculated and deadly and silently, sharply, vengeful that spread slowly across her shoulders and down her arms, that made her heart race and her stomach drop and time itself slow to an utter standstill

-

_hate_

-

She knew that feeling; she knew that voice, that face, that hatred. She was new on Korriban, the favoured, pampered daughter of prestigious Red Sith, strong in the Force but lacking the education only experience could give. He was new on Korriban, too; an alien, a criminal, a slave. Scum beneath scum, barely worthy of her contempt; mocked and then ignored.

Acolytes disappeared, as acolytes did; sometimes the bodies were found. Sometimes, only trophies. Korriban was a harsh world, home to harsh people, though it was a sharp shock for a pampered Sith. Still, she adapted; she survived.

There were trials, of course; the details long since disappeared into the haze of unimportant background noise of her memory. The enemy was known territory; the planet, the other acolytes, the menaces of long-dead Sith and the hatreds of ones still living. On Korriban, it was a tale as old as any other; victory, though any means possible. Death to any who fell along the way.

Later, she would spend weeks - months - years - berating herself for not seeing the trap before it sprang. There'd been rumours about him killing off the competition; there were rumours like that about all the acolytes, and some of them were even true. She'd seen his hatred - he wore it openly, despising everyone from the lowliest newcomer to the Emperor himself. She'd thought him irrelevant; so consumed by his passions that he would be devoured by them, long before one of the trickier, deadlier acolytes became her problem.

She was almost right. _Almost_.

It was such an excruciatingly, humiliatingly _simple_ plan, as well. He'd hidden; he'd stolen (illegitimately purchased? She never knew and never cared) sedatives from the medical wing, he'd practised well how to disarm a trained combatant and how to overpower uncooperative Sith and he'd

_arrogant sith bitch_

it hadn't just been about her death, but her humiliation; destroy everything that she had held over him (render her powerless; _utterly_ powerless, utterly unable to resist and entirely aware of it all)

_youre going to die knowing that you failed and i won_

His hatred was like a white hot flame; his breath burned her ear as he hissed into it, his body crushed hers as he forced himself on it, and her fear and dizziness and nausea swirled in her mind like a maelstrom.

_maybe ill let them find you like this as a message to you fuckers from dromund fucking kaas_

In the centre of that maelstrom, though, she found a rock; squeezed her eyes tight shut against the outside world (as though they could protect her; as though she could retreat within herself) and held her breath and heard him, as if from so very far away, listing all the humiliations he'd visit on her before he killed her and she ignored him, reaching out instead to touch the maelstrom; her fear and anger, her hatred and disgust, even her humiliation-

(She'd broken free; she tamed the maelstrom and turned it on him, barely pulling herself together enough to fight back and even then like a cornered, desperate animal) (which had made two of them; he was wounded, and had wounded her in turn) (but only one of them walked away - staggered, barely, almost unable to hold her training blade - only dimly aware of the blood which trickled down from between her legs, or the aching gash across her face) (and in the days and weeks afterwards she'd changed; cut her hair short with a sharp knife and left the gash to form a scar \- a reminder of her weakness, and her strength) (and she'd spoken of this to nobody, because for a Sith, weakness is death)

-but now the maelstrom turned on her, and when she opened her eyes it wasn't him but a Dread Master - all of them, at once, clawing into her rawest, deepest secrets-

-

_rage_

-

Hutta stank.

Its stink got into everything; she may not have been as vain as some, but even she valued clean air and breath and clothes. The swamps here, though, the factories, the chemicals… the _Hutts_ … It was fitting that this filthy place would be the undoing of a filthy Jedi.

She had a hard time imagining Baras here; her master seemed a creature of comforts, preferring to play his games from afar than up close and personal. 

Karr was so easy to take apart it was almost laughable, and she had to wonder - as she did it- how her own master had failed to do so for so long. The Jedi was easily baited, easily tempted, easily pushed and taunted and trapped. She defied him at every turn; sparing men he expected her to kill, letting him rant and rave and replying only with offers of diplomacy and negotiation, taking every expectation he had of Sith and using it against him in any way she could. He was falling; she barely even had to push.

In person, he was no different - his serenity giving way to incoherence as his frustrations grew. He was dangerous, yes - and would have been a powerful Jedi, but for his battered self control and its inability to stop him succumbing far too quickly to his whims and passions. When he ran out of words, he fought with his lightsaber - just as passionate, just as uncontrolled, just as dangerous and unpredictable. He was bested, but not easily, and she was grateful - in truth - that he _had_ fallen so far. Consumed by anger, he burned brightly but quickly; all she had to do was outlast him.

Where the master went, his pupil followed; Jaesa did not disappoint, and her own steps matched her master's path. The wait was short - too short, perhaps, and Eirn couldn't help but realise that something had splintered. Something was wrong.

_waited for what seemed like hours_

The padawan followed her master's path in more than one way; the trap was half sprung (meant for Baras, meant for Eirn, not meant for her at all) but Karr's own fall had not been part of the plan, and nor had everything that had lead the two women to this single place and Jaesa, furious

_distraught, but not like this_

at the slow death of her teacher, at the kidnap and torture of her family ( _his death served no purpose, and nor did their suffering; far sweeter to seduce her with honey and turn her willingly against the republic_ ) the humilation of her master ( _he humiliated himself_ ), and

when she attacked it wasn't just the padawan but Karr, as well - freed from where Eirn had thought him bound, the half-formed half-spring trap closing its jaws on the half-uncertain Sith. She was alone, outnumbered and outfought

_malavai was here; was always here_

and Jaesa - the supposed padawan - was impossibly powerful, tossing the Sith like a ragdoll from one wall of this squalid stinking little shack to the other, screaming in righteous fury, while her master relentlessly swung at their semi captive Sith with his lightsaber (with Eirn's own, impossibly), his energies implausibly renewed and his ferocity a thousand times what it had been. They were merciless; no, that wasn't it. They were vicious; Jaesa dangling the Sith in mid air, crushing her throat, while Karr took his time taking her apart, her cries of pain crushed into painful chokes and only released to the floor by the vengeful padawan when the world began to slip from view.

'Wait, Jaesa.'

They towered over her; Jaesa with her own saber drawn, Karr holding Eirn's. The air crackled with disagreement; with cold, impersonal hatred, with barely containable rage and utterly insatiable bloodlust.

'We should hand her over to the Jedi Council.' 

Jaesa had a wickedness about her that did not suit her features; Karr had a smirk that would not have looked out of place on a Sith. For a moment, Eirn half remembered the tales she'd learned as a child of the way the Jedi had burned Korriban; of the lies and hatred that lay at the core of the Jedi order, and of the genocide they wished to visit on galaxy. She'd never been sure how much was true, then or now; something about all _this_ even seemed unreal, even as her pain insisted that it wasn't.

'No,' Eirn murmured, finding her voice - not sure where it had been, or why her throat cracked, 'this isn't right-'

-

_fear_

-

'This isn't right.' Vette was pouting; Vette was pacing and glaring and guilting and getting nowhere. Eirn was resolute; she admired the Twi'lek's passion, but made a mental note to speak to the girl about her timing.

A _Ravager_ , her master called it. A foreboding name for a disarmingly innocuous device, though she knew anything secreted in the Dark Temple would be far from innocent. She was glad to be rid of it, even if she wasn't convinced Baras would put it to good use.

('Good'… there was a relative term, among Sith. The good of the self, the good of the empire, but rarely if ever the good of the people. Sympathy, empathy… allowing oneself to get dragged down to the level of those beneath you only ended up with you becoming as weak as they were. Or so the common wisdom went.)

Vette asked her, in a moment of boldness, how she managed to sleep at night. The Twi'lek was lucky she'd been picked up by Eirn; any other Sith would have killed her for such backtalk. (Any other Sith would have left her to rot on Korriban.)

'In bed,' she replied, deadpan.

-

He'd invited them to watch him work; seeing little option, she'd accepted. She'd watched silently - her expression neutral, her tone dry. There were easier, quicker, saner ways to get people to talk than torture; Baras was a sadist, but there was more than that.

It had been a message; do not cross me. She could read it - and she had wondered, in turn, if he could read the one etched across her face.

-

She knew Dromund Kaas; she knew Kaas City. She knew its rain and lightning; the way its butts coated the planet like a blanket, the way that even at the heart of the Citadel you could hear the loudest of the peals of thunder. She knew the harsh grey lines of Imperial architecture; she knew the hum of Imperial computers, the pacing of Imperial jackboots, the tang of Imperial military air.

She knew Baras's chambers; though she didn't know them from quite this angle, which was why it took her a moment to work out where she was. Strapped to his torture bed, loomed over by her former master, who chuckled darkly beneath his expressionless mask. He hissed, as he breathed; he said words, but their meaning slid over her and fell to the floor like the limp dead things they were, deprived of all sense and meaning. She saw Vette; she saw herself - herself and not-herself, her face unmarred and her hair uncut, bound and braided the same way it had been the day she'd left Ziost.

She sang.

-

She knew, abstractly, that her mind was collapsing; that she screamed until her throat was raw, and kept on screaming long after; that Baras hummed to himself, conducting her arias as not-her and not-Vette watched on from the very edges of her awareness.

She sang of Malavai, and of herself; she sang of Ziost and Balmorra, of Quesh and Alderaan and Hutta. She sang of broken Jedi and tormented Sith; she sang of her mercy and weakness, of her love and compassion, of the freedom she'd given Vette and the refuge she'd given Jaesa. She sang of things she didn't even know about; of whatever her conductor demanded, wherever the tune dictated. It was the performance of a lifetime.

She knew, abstractly, that it would end; that her mind would cave in on itself and she would - if not die, then at least be rendered incapable of caring. It was a fleeting abstraction, though - one drowned out by cascading crescendos of the wretched and the damned. This was her new everything; all that had gone before washed away as her former master picked her mind apart. What had caused this, what had led her here, what failures and betrayals had set her up… all her mind had room for was the now, and all the now contained was that abominable opera.

It ended as abruptly as it began - itself a kind of intolerable pain, as light and silence flooded in to fill the nothingness that torture left behind. She simply lay, unmoving - barely breathing, barely there at all, aware only of the blood that trickled down her throat and the faint music that lay just beyond the edge of hearing - that faded away along with the light, along with pain and will and thought. A shell; hated and empty, spent and left for dead in darkness and even that, eventually, faded blissfully into nothing.

-

Stone ground against stone, ground against the inside of her skull; dragging and grating, every movement a new and painful vibration. The air was cold and harsh and sharp and heavy; she had stumbled and knelt and fallen, the ground pressing itself against her, crushing her between it and the air. Her eyes stung and her head rang; the light, as she forced her eyes open, burned - prompting fresh tears, along with the realisation there were tears at all. The air seared her throat as she tried to breathe; her body shook as she tried to stop herself from falling further, even as there was nowhere left to fall. Her forearms ached where they pressed against the ground, even through her armour; her head pounded where it rested, even as it resisted her attempt to pull herself up.

_Enough, brothers. I think she's learned her lesson._

She dimly realised she'd soiled herself; another humiliation piled onto this, and the urge to curl up further - to find somewhere safe to hide away (as thought 'safe' was even possible) - was almost overwhelming. Reality hurt; it was loud and painful and she could barely process where she was, never mind what was going on; who was speaking, what they were doing.

_We will meet again, arrogant Sith. It has already been foreseen. Be mindful of your manners, next time._

It was unavoidable, though. Belsavis. The Dread Masters. Six immensely powerful Sith, freshly released from Republic imprisonment, and who had picked her as their first victim. Her, the Emperor's Wrath, who had crumbled like a doe-eyed padawan and who even now trembled as she tried to remember how to breathe. Her, the Emperor's Wrath, who was just another insect in the path of their hideous power.

At least she didn't have to look at them; she could close her eyes as she felt them walk past her, she could try to ignore them as Jaesa stammered her way through a holocall to the waiting Imperial escort, and try to block out the memory of the phantom Jaesa they had conjured up. All she managed to do was retch again; to realise why her throat felt so raw, and relive the memory of screaming, and gag on it as the world span and they delivered their parting judgement.

_And remember… you did this to yourself_ , _arrogant Sith._

She wasn't entirely convinced they were wrong.


	2. Rejection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: suicidal ideation

'No.'

Malavai Quinn - Captain, second class - paused, mid-sentence - his own speech half made and half interrupted by his would-be once-Sith.

'No,' she repeated, pacing irritably, 'Do not. You do not,' she repeated again, jabbing her finger into the air - into his general direction, 'get to do this. Any of this...'

This performance. Another ship, staffed only by droids, none of which had put up much fight and all of which had focused fire on _her_. She was the threat, of course, in more than one way, but while her conscious mind was fractured and fragmented, her paranoia was as keen as ever. Keener than it ever had been, bubbling over with conviction that everything it imagined was the certain truth and free from the restraints her sanity had once imposed on it. There were moments where she was ill-served by her newfound lack of understanding, but now was not one of them.

This speech, written and rehearsed when her back was turned and her mind was elsewhere, not that he'd have found it hard to do so, of late. He'd been held as far away as all others, if not further; she was more terrified of him recognising her weakness than most, and their once-intimacy gave him special privilege when it came to ferreting out her secrets. For a while she'd trusted that he'd never abuse that privilege, or the truths he found; for a while, she'd trusted, at all.

This betrayal - or rather, what he'd tried to frame it as.

This execution, not that all of her was inclined to stop him.

-

(Rewind:)

_Hey, Eir?_

Malavai Quinn (Captain, third class, new stripes on his jacket and a slight spring in his step, even if he'd have denied it) was undoubtedly a man of his word. _Which_ word was the important one, of course; he'd claimed a lot of things, bent on one knee, but how many of them were true-

'Hey, Eir.'

'Hey, Vette. What's up?'

Vette was everything he hated, of course; impersonally so, but hated all the same. An alien, who existed outside of the Imperial military structure, who thumbed her nose at authority and addressed Eirn by a nickname and made no secret of her disdain for Imperial life. 

'-There's something wrong with the comms since Captain Fussbucket came on board. Look at this...'

(reason _n_ she kept Vette around, despite his complaints. _because_ of his complaints.)

-

She tried, very hard, not to think about this as he lay in her arms (as she would lie, sometimes, in his). She tried, very hard, not to wonder if she was making a huge mistake.

(She failed, for a long time.)

-

(Rewind:)

_Eihn?_

He'd barely spoken to her in weeks, but still looked at her across the table in a tea-house on Voss as though their intimacy had never been shattered; as though she hadn't abruptly withdrawn from him and everything, as though she was not acutely aware of the lie that she was eternally projecting that everything was fine. (the lie he too partook in, in these moments - though she wondered, sometimes, _why_ )

'Hm?' she looked back across at him, trying to pretend she'd just been momentarily distracted - realising he'd been saying something, and she had - as she had been, far too often of late - not even been listening.

'...Never mind,' he murmured, the moment lost; something breaking in his gaze, even as she tried to catch it.

-

_One of your own plots against you_.

The Voss had nothing more helpful than that to say, and she wasn't sure that he wasn't just another nightmare - one more hallucination that this planet and its unhelpful denizens had spawned inside her shattered mind. She ignored it as successfully as she ignored every other paranoid, terrified whisper that had settled in her brain; that is, she tried, and failed entirely .

-

( _You could stop breathing,_ one helpfully suggested. _Sit down in this Vorantikus lair and wait for the mother whose children you just slaughtered to come back. Fall off this cliff, far from the safe, patrolled zones of Voss-ka, and break something vital. Take his vibroknife when he's not looking and press it to your veins. Give him a way out. He deserves better than this, not like you._ )

Sometimes, it was impossible not to be tempted. 

( _If you truly have a traitor_ , _perhaps they'll have the courage to do what you don't._ )

Sometimes, it was impossible not to hope.

-

(Rewind:)

'Uh, Eir?'

Vette hadn't been spared; she was held just as much at arm's length as the rest of her crew, but that didn't stop the Twi'lek trying. Sometimes Eirn resented her for it, and sometimes she just wanted to cling to the younger woman and sob, and mostly she barely managed to hold herself together long enough for the conversation to run its course - so that she could flee, again, to somewhere if not safer then at least less confrontational.

'What is it, Vette?'

'I, uh. You remember those comm anomalies we had a... while back? I think it's acting up again.'

It took her a long moment to work out what Vette meant; Quinn had stopped making his secretive reports after Baras had tried to have them killed on Quesh, and Eirn had hoped that would be the end of it. For one thing, he'd finally conceded to her (suggestion/request) they share quarters on a more permanent basis; for another, she had more pressing matters on her mind.

( _I am no longer conflicted_ , he'd mumbled - looking up at her through a kolto haze, after having tried to put himself between her and half a ton of rock without a single thought for himself - _about anything - including you-_ )

'You're certain?' Eirn replied, cautiously; picking through the meanings in Vette's statement, and pushing away the prickling fear as best she could.

'Mhm. Found it last night. After-' Vette started, hesitating for a moment. After Eirn had laid out her plans for Corellia; after Malavai (Quinn?) had thrown in a wrench, and miraculously offered a solution.

(Eirn had never quite puzzled out how Vette felt towards him; Quinn had made a terrible first impression on the girl, along with and up to at least his tenth impression - but if it hadn't been for Vette he wouldn't have stayed at all, a conundrum she'd never satisfactorily resolved, and which had been all but forgotten in the chaos of more recent times)

'I see,' Eirn replied, eventually; unable to forget that prophecy-vision-hallucination-nightmare from Voss, and wondering again if this was what had been meant.

'Alright,' she added, 'I'll... handle it.'

-

' _No_.'

She still, though, refused to sit there and listen to his speech. Oh, it was a fine performance; a little rushed, the wording clumsy and the set poorly dressed, but the execution (for want of any better term) was impressive. Eirn wondered just how long he'd been preparing this - since Voss? Since- (her stomach clenched) _Belsavis_? - and realised that she'd been neglecting him for _months_.

'My lord-' he started, irritated - visibly annoyed, but it was more than that. He'd long hated being pushed off script; it was the quickest way to unbalance him, and he knew it, and he knew she knew it - his weaknesses as documentable, to the keen observer, as hers.

'No,' she said, 'Malavai Quinn, _shut up_. This is _bullshit_. Insulting bullshit. You don't,' she added - pausing, stopping - jabbing an index finger at him and failing to dredge together the conviction to disbelieve an idea she knew he had no faith in.

'You're talking about _treason_ ,' she managed - stammered, pushing the words out against all their attempts to lodge themselves in her throat and choke her. 'The Emperor-'

'The Emperor is an absentee landlord,' he retorted, 'Who communicates only in sporadic riddles. Lord Baras is the only hope-'

'Baras,' she replied \- laughing at the absurdity of the claim, even in this situation. 'Baras,' she repeated, shaking her head. 'If- if the Emperor is an absent landlord,' she managed, 'Then Baras is the drunken vagrant who sets the place on fire while he's gone and can't be found when the guard turn up,' she finished, laughing again at the absurdity of this situation - of the comparison, of the idea of Baras as anything but terrible.

(She kept wanting to throw up; kept trying to laugh, again, and squashing both urges only resulted in them merging into one)

'Lord Baras-' he started again, insulted at the comparison; he got that far, again, as she interrupted him.

'Baras,' she said, 'Is a paranoid lunatic who's no better than _Broysc_ ,' she spat. 'Worse, actually,' she added. 'Were you asleep when we were on Hoth? On Quesh? He gave a Moff and his entire fleet to the Republic to embarrass Vengean. He's currently undermining all of Corellia just to get to Vowrawn. We'll lose the planet, the _war_ , and all for his ego,' she added - remarkably lucidly, even as she was having to grab at every scrap of energy to remain upright and focused.

(She wondered, for a moment, if this was real, or if it was just one more lucid nightmare; the bile in her throat certainly tasted real enough, but that by itself didn't necessarily mean anything)

He didn't have an answer to that; set his jaw and tried to meet her gaze, his speech ruined and his plans, so meticulously laid, stomped across by a Sith who no longer had the luxury of subtlety.

'You had,' she added, ' _No_ compunction about killing Broysc. Why is Baras so different? _Why are you so afraid of him_?'

'I'm not the one afraid,' he lied - poorly, and seemed to know it. 'The Emperor-'

'-This isn't about the fucking Emperor, and you know it,' she snarled. At any other time, with her mind in any better shape, she might have come to these conclusions sooner, but now- 'Stop fucking lying to me,' she added, anger boiling up over laughter, even as it curdled with her nausea, 'And drop this fucking _act_. If you'd wanted to- betray me,' she hissed, the words like bile in her throat, 'You could have a thousand times already, and without any of _this_. So why don't you be honest with me, Malavai Quinn, just for once in your life, and tell me what this is _really_ about.'

He laughed - he actually _laughed_ , and Eirn felt herself gripped by the urge to actually _hit_ him.

( _Hit him - take him by his throat, and crush it - make him scream, make him beg, claw his skin until it breaks and bleeds - tear him limb from limb, gouge his eyes and cheeks and heart and make him choke on them all before he dies-_

- _it's a kindness, compared to what he'd do to you, given a scrap of a chance-)_

'You're right, my lord,' he said, finally, 'It's not about the Emperor. It's not even about the Empire, it's about _you_. You're...' he started, looking over her, his gaze everywhere but where her eyes were.

(and then he looked at her, just for a moment, the way he hadn't looked at her in months, and she felt both their hearts break)

'...you,' he finished, his own voice breaking under stress and strain. Something else had broken, she could _feel_ it; some conviction or another, crushed beneath a weight she didn't understand. 'It was always,' he added, quietly, 'About you.'

She just stared, not getting it; the words not making any sense, no matter how she tried to rearrange them. '... _Me_?'

'You, my lord,' he replied - repeated, looking at her again as if for the first time. 'Ever since- I can't-' he started, again, his own cowardice and terror and nausea bubbling up to his surface; he shook, and was trying not to shake, and failing quite entirely. 'When I realised,' he added, starting to ramble, 'that I was- in love with you, that you were a better- _everything_ than him- it seemed easy to believe it might not end like- this. Lord Baras, I- he- left me no choice,' he added, 'I can't defy him, not like you, but- I can't- do this, he won't settle for blood, you _know_ this-'

'Baras,' she replied, 'Is a coward, and a traitor, and a liar, and he is going to die,' she added, with a certainty she hadn't felt in a long, long time - with a clarity of purpose that cut though even the most determined of her self-destructive urges, even if it was a clarity born of anger and exhaustion. She'd known, abstractly, that his death was her goal - was the reason she kept breathing, at least for now - but it crystallised in this moment, becoming real in a way it hadn't been before.

He studied her, as she spoke; his eyes full of fear, now that she looked at them properly - fear of Baras, fear of _her_ , fear of death and failure and loneliness and-

'My lord,' he started \- 'Eihn, please, I can't- please don't make me...' He trailed off at that, though - desperate and terrified, as though she wasn't just the same - buried under just as many layers of self-loathing and despair.

'I don't know,' he whispered, 'What to do, any more.'

'Baras,' she repeated, 'Is going to die, and he will do so by my hand, with you standing by my side. Is that understood?'

It wasn't an answer; it was all that she could manage, in that moment, even as she (wanted/needed) something more. He seemed to need it, too; he was the one who closed that distance, trying to pull her closer to him - endlessly relieved when she allowed him to, even if the only reason she buried her face in his shoulder was so he wasn't able to see her finally begin to weep.

'I love you,' he stammered, 'So much- Eihn, I'm so sorry, I should never have-'

She pressed a kiss to him to shut him up, and it worked; there were tears on both their cheeks, and though she couldn't promise either of them that things were better, they were at the very least _there_.

Another storm had passed. They had survived.


	3. Affectation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And one man in his time plays many parts

The ship stank of fear.

Malavai was afraid; of what, Eirnhaya didn't know, but she could guess. Fear of his failed treachery being discovered by the rest of the crew. Fear of Baras - of what he would do when he discovered Quinn had failed to kill his wayward apprentice, and had failed equally to be killed by her in turn. Fear of Lieutenant Piece; a general fear of the man, one that had lurked ever since they'd met on Taris, and more specific bursts of terror whenever Pierce was regaling others with some tale of how he'd beaten down cowards and turncoats and miscellaneous enemies of the Empire. Not that he was any of those, at least in Eirn's estimation, but the fears lingered all the same.

Of losing her, perhaps. Of losing himself, more likely. 

Vette was afraid. Of losing her adopted sister, of being put back in chains and sold off into slavery, of losing the relatively charmed life she'd fallen into. Of dying. Of not being allowed to die. 

Jaesa was afraid. Of the Jedi, who had thus far failed in any attempt to track her down and visit their idea of justice on her, but whom she must have known did not like to see their Padawans fall. Of the Sith; of what they'd do if they found out she wasn't really one of them. Of, perhaps, what they would then visit upon her Master. 

Pierce was afraid. Of becoming irrelevant; of the war ending and he and his being discarded onto the trashheap, unloved and unmourned, an embarrassment to polite Imperial society, a relic of a time long past. 

Twovee was afraid, though Eirn had long drawn the conclusion that the droid's fear was programmed in. 

Broonmark was a mystery to her, but that was not out of the ordinary. 

-

She was afraid. 

Of losing Malavai, who had already drawn away from her, even as he tried to pretend otherwise. Vette, who was more than just her skills; she was a little sister again, of a sort, and some kind of redemption for ill-earned lingering guilt. Jaesa, who looked up to her so much and who actually (didn't think she was a heretic, a traitor, a madwoman; who respected her, and had in her own way taught her so much). Pierce, who might have had the social skills of a bantha but was loyal, fiercely so, and who had faith in her that no Sith ever would. 

Of being defeated when she faced Baras; not just killed, but humiliated (and he would love every moment of it; his upstart former apprentice, who had dared to challenge him in every way he could be challenged) (not just before the Dark Council, but before those she would have to have at her side; Malavai and Jaesa and every other ally she had come to count on) (and the memories came, unbidden, at that fear; of what he'd forced her to see, of what she'd feared and of the phantoms those fears had become in that tomb on Belsavis) 

Of the Dread Masters, and their promise that they would see her again. She didn't believe in fate and destiny; she loathed the idea that her life was subject to the whims of powers other than her own. Perhaps that was simply vanity speaking; she'd graduated from Baras's enforcer to the Emperor's, but was still subject to the needs and wants of others. Still, the Hand had never stripped her bare like the Dread Masters had; like she knew Baras would, given even the slightest inkling of a chance. 

Of herself. Of what she might be capable of, if pushed; of what she'd fail to be able to, even if forced. 

-

Sparring was more than just a way to pass the time; more, even, than the physical exercise. She could vent herself in a fight in a way that was almost impossible outside of it - at least, not without serious risk of a hull breach. Penting up fear and anger was only useful to a point; letting them fester only resulted in becoming so mired in perceived hatreds that you became first caged by them, and then eaten alive. 

'Again.' 

She and Jaesa frequently sparred in the cargo hold; sometimes they even had a physical audience (usually Pierce, making some excuse to keep close tabs on the younger woman - or Broonmark, who himself was a mystery wrapped in an enigma). Usually they fought with practice sabers - powerful enough to cause injury, as her scar stood testament to, but still not the real thing. 

Not today. Eirn had insisted on lightsabers; Jaesa, nursing fears, was holding back. Fear of injury; fear of injuring herself, fear of injuring Eirn. It was touching, in an entirely un-Sith kind of way. 

'Master, I-'

 '-And stop making excuses. We both know you're capable of more. Are you Sith, or not?'

Eirnhaya knew that not having a personal audience didn't mean this fight was not being witnessed. Vette had found numerous bugs planted by Baras's people in the time since they'd first left Dromund Kaas, all those years ago (how long had it been, now?), and some had even been destroyed along the way, but Eirn found it safest to assume that her former master was always watching. Always listening. 

Jaesa didn't reply - not verbally, anyway. She steeled herself, though - centred herself, and, without warning, launched an attack on Eirn, channelling her fear and frustration into a lunge the older woman barely dodged, into a parry that made Eirn's lightsaber hum and spark, into a swing that missed her Master by mere millimetres and left behind it only a trail of superheated air. 

And then she stopped, because of course, she wasn't Sith, and never would be. 

' _Again_.' 

\- 

Fear, Eirn had come to realise, was what she hated so much about Korriban. 

It was ancient, and it slumbered in the rocks; it whispered in the air, it lingered in the tombs and it worked its way into every last thing on the planet. The Valley of the Dark Lords itself was carved from fear; with fear, and by fear. Fear of death, fear of life, fear of being forgotten and fear of being remembered for the wrong reasons. Fear of the living nursed its tomb's inhabitants; fear of the dead choked its tomb's raiders. Fear of their Overseers and rivals drove the Acolytes to ever farther lengths, and fear of the Emperor and of their rivals drove the Dark Council to ever further depths. It was built into the very foundations of the Academy - the most prestigious of the Empire's buildings, on the most beloved of its worlds. It didn't stop at the Empire, either; the Jedi feared Korriban so much they'd occupied and attempted to destroy it numerous times, and ultimately failed at every turn, because even as it was fear that drove them it was fear, in the end, that undid them; made them stumble, made them fall. 

She felt it more keenly than ever on her eventual, inevitable, return - standing on the planet's surface, gathering her energies before heading once more into the Academy to face the Council - to face Baras. Her own fear, honed into keen and wicked blade. Malavai's fear, less expertly buried but still suitably restrained beneath order and regulation and visible only in those brief moments when neither of those held sway. Jaesa's fear, fashioned into armour, after a sort - clouding her true identity even as she sought to ferret out the secrets of others. 

It wasn't much, but it was going to have to do. 

\- 

To be Sith was not simply to have power, nor was it to use power; nor was it in the methods or uses of that power. To be Sith was to be seen to have power; to flaunt it, to demonstrate it, to send messages and answer challenges; to not just do, but to be seen doing. 

The intricacies of Sith theatrics had come to her by way of the opera; originally her mother's passion, though one that Eirn had inherited with gusto. As a child she had memorised her favourite arias, idolised the singers and immersed herself in every gory detail of their sometimes lurid plots (even if her mother had insisted on some limits on a young Sith's education). As a young woman, her vocal training and ambitions had trumped all other concerns, be they academic (much to her father's despair) or the Force (to her mother's). For a time, she'd nursed a childish hope she could throw tradition to the wind and pursue her true passion, but law and tradition had both conspired to teach her the harsh limits to Sith freedom. 

Still, she sang; serenaded herself in the shower, hummed choral lines as she sparred, immersed herself in the grandiose theatrics of it all in the name of the greatest show the galaxy had ever seen. Fate had seen fit to deny her one stage, but that only made the one she was made to occupy all the more spectacular. 

It was why she caught herself humming in the Academy's lifts, as they made the achingly slow journey to the chambers of the Dark Council - why, in that moment of acute awareness, when the acolyte who'd been sent to escort them glanced nervously at her out of the corner of their eye, she chuckled at the youth's uncertainty and lack of understanding; why she continued, revelling in the unbalanced emotional air that followed (the acolyte's unease, Jaesa's growing intimidation at the setting she was in, Malavai's acute embarrassment at his lord's behaviour). 

It was why she stood amongst the allies she did; Vowran, who was using her just as she used him and who had been her Master's rival for far longer than this particular spat. Tremel, her first defiance, still mourning his daughter - as well as his own lack of foresight. Rathari, a spineless worm if there ever had been one but a useful wretch all the same. Jaesa, wielding the same blue-bladed saber she'd had when she and Eirn had finally met on Hutta. Malavai, having failed entirely to fall on his Wrath's own saber, her most trusted and beloved of her crew. 

It was why she wielded the saber she did; one that she'd pulled out of a tomb here on Korriban, as part of her final trial. Proof of her claim to power; of her resourcefulness, of her determination, of her birthright. She'd favoured a more modern hilt in the times inbetween, but the occasion had warranted a full servicing of the ancient saber. And it was why, after long and careful consideration, she had replaced its crystal; no longer the common red of Sith, but white and purple - a statement and a challenge all of its own, for those who knew how to read it. 

It was why she smiled, despite her fear; why she held her head high and met every challenger in the eye. 

This was truly to be the performance of a lifetime. 

\- 

Baras was every part the booming villain; Eirn had little trouble imagining his part being played by any primo tenor of the day. A man not just aging but old, and painfully aware of his looming mortality - clinging to every scrap of power he could (every scheme, every part, every last note), content to throw anyone and any thing he could into the maw if it meant but a single moment more in the spotlight. Fame and power were equally fickle beasts, though; this was a lesson he had learned well, even if he was yet unwilling to cede defeat. 

Seeing him in person again after so long was a little surreal, so much so that it occupied enough of Eirn's attention that the parts of her mind which would have ordinarily been overwhelmed by I am standing in the chambers of the Dark Council were blissfully silent. He was all bluster and weak bravado, though, and she wondered as he appealed to Marr and Ravage for assistance why she'd ever been in awe of him. Their audience certainly seemed underwhelmed by his performance, though Eirn knew that his failure could not, on this stage, be counted on as her success. She had to fight her own corner, or would be found wanting by default. 

_Strike her down, damn you, or feel the Emperor's judgement-!_

'If the Emperor truly favours you, Baras, then you've nothing to fear from me.' 

Which only riled him further, which was exactly what she wanted. 

\- 

Not that the fight was easy; not that there was anything, as they fought, but the clash of two powerful Sith, each driven by fear to destroy the other. All she heard was the humming sparks of their sabers as they clashed (as she pursued him, relentlessly; as he struck back, putting her on the defensive, and as she retaliated in turn); the only music that played was the pounding of her blood in her ears. All the world was only she and him and she parried and dodged and struck and was parried and dodged and struck in turn, their sabers sparking with fear and anger and hatred as they clashed, his taunts and her retorts made breathlessly, their deadly choreography as practiced and fluid as any performing troupe. 

This was no staged fight, though; the hatred was real, the fear was real, the looming spectre of death was real, the superheated air in the wake of saber swings was real. He was out of practice, though, and she was desperate; he'd become complacent, in old age, and she knew it. Even so, he had power; he'd shown her that much himself, so many times, and all she had to do was bait it out. She did so, too, matching every thrust with a parry and every parry with a riposte, pushing as far as she dared before pulling back from his counter-attack, and when she made a gap between them he filled it with lightning which she only caught with her saber instead of her skin by the briefest of slivers. The magnitude of the miss was irrelevant, though, and his energy danced along her blade instead of wracking her body, before she redirected it back at him - a swing and a hit, sending her former master staggering backwards under a hit from his own power. It was an opening, and she took it, pursuing him relentlessly - mercilessly, even, as she knew he would pursue her, if she let him - closing the gap with body and blade, launching herself with a leap and a scream and hit in the centre of mass by a burst of unexpected power that sent her flying effortlessly across the chamber from him. 

The landing winded her - sharp and hard against the far wall, and for a brief moment she was blinded by pain and light. She staggered, though, determination keeping her upright as she fell to her feet, one landing in front of the other as she hit the floor in an approximation of walking that convinced her body for just as long as she needed to regain her bearings.

Baras, when she was able to focus her attentions back on him, was wasting time; appealing to the audience for their favour (regaining his own bearings, his own breath, his own power) and, as far as she could tell, getting nowhere. On spotting her, though, he changed his tack; sneered at her, behind his mask, and injected every iota of that sneer into his voice as he spoke. 

'Had enough already, child? ' 

That made her laugh; an action she regretted, as the ribs that had broken her fall made known their objections to her - and then relished, as the pain became another weapon she could wield. 

'Drop the act, Baras.' Each word - each breath, each movement - sent a searing pain through her, and she used that pain to drag herself upright - to plant her feet on the ground, one in front of the other, closing the distance between them. There would be time for healing later. 'Nobody's buying it.' 

His reply was simply a scream of rage and a brilliant ball of lighting, raw fear and hatred and frustration and rage channelled into the Force and hurled at right at her; she simply stepped deftly to one side, letting it pass her by - not even glancing back as it crashed into the wall behind her, scorching the stone before dissipating into the air. 

She looked at him, right in the eye - as much as she could with that infernal mask in the way, at any rate - and smiled, a crooked, impish, roguish, defiant, victorious, smile. 

'Is that really the best you can do, old man?' 

\- 

A traditional theatrical ending would have dictated she have some speech prepared; in the opera, Baras would have taken half his final aria to stagger artfully on the stage, a prop lightsaber clutched to his gut as he cursed and berated his rebellious apprentice - and his own arrogance in underestimating her. The reality of it was harsher, and faster; Baras collapsed entirely gracelessly, louder in his final descent than he'd ever been and, in the end, entirely silent. 

For the longest moment, that was all that was; her saber, her breathing. Her, the single focal point of every one and every thing in the Council chambers, slowly bringing her breathing back under control, feeling the thumping beat of her heart, the faint lightheadedness of a fading adrenaline high and the weight of all those injuries and expectations slowly bearing down on her. 

Marr had something he said; she managed some response, in turn, but was too overwhelmed by fear and relief to properly register it all. She was spent - glad, abstractly, that there would be no encore, and that once the curtain fell she could retire to her dressing room with no further demands from her audience. 

At least, until the next time.


	4. Reformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw for heavy alcohol consumption.

With great power, came great popularity; some expected, and some for which Eirnhaya was entirely unprepared. The Emperor's Wrath, the incarnation of their Emperor's will, acknowledged as such by the Dark Council and given free reign in the exercise of the Emperor's commands. What those were remained to be seen; for now, she was free to do _almost_ as she saw fit.

(Hearing herself referred to as the _Wrath_ in a public space for the first time was equal measures thrilling and crushing; the first in the ripple of fear and awe she felt in those around her, and the second in realising that she'd become her sister's childhood nightmare. There were many Sith who would have delighted in knowing that their name struck terror into the hearts of children -even Sith children - but Eirnhaya was not one of them).

The Hand were silent, which she wasn't sure what to make of - and wasn't sure she _liked_. It was slowly occurring to her that she was no more free now than when she'd served Baras; the fact that her new Master was unseen and unknowable did not exactly make for a reassuring thought. She tried to tell herself that this was a position of great honour and prestige, that not even the Dark Council could stand in her way... and knew, all the while, that all of this just made her more of a target - just gave her farther from which to fall.

It also meant a steady stream of pleas for assistance from Moffs and Darths alike, who wanted the Emperor's seal of approval on their work - or simply the raw power that she commanded at their disposal. She'd been peripherally aware of the war, and even done her part to aid in the effort (at least, in as much as she'd been undermining Baras's efforts to undermine the war), but it was only when she was able to give it her full focus that Eirn realised just how badly the war was going. Victory on Corellia had apparently been hideously short lived, with the Republic having undone both her and her Lieutenant's work in an embarrassingly short space of time. And then there was the ongoing situation on Belsavis - and Alderaan, and Voss, and Balmorra, and...

-

Her personal life was not much better.

Her crew were loyal enough; Vette had been assigned to finally purge the ship of the last of Baras's tracking devices, a task the Twi'lek had taken to with great enthusiasm, and Jaesa remained an able, if occasionally obtuse, student. Broonmark and Pierce's loyalties had never been in question, either - both would cheerfully follow her to the ends of the galaxy as long as she could get them a good fight in doing so, and she was happy to indulge them.

It was Malavai that proved to be her great undoing, as he always had done; or rather, it was the wound that Baras had managed to inflict on the both of them, and that even now was proving difficult to heal. She'd hoped, stupidly perhaps, that the death of her former Master and the removal of that particular threat to both their lives would have eased their relationship, but instead it seemed to have only made things more difficult. Their quarters had become the one place on the ship that neither of them truly ever where, with him scrabbling for every excuse he could to work late into early mornings and her attempting to make up for lost sleep with meditations and exercises that inevitably failed. 

Even when she did sleep, it was fitful; part of her afraid of the nightmares the Dread Masters had dug up, and part of her simply achingly lonely. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but sleep came much more easily with her lover around her. It was a primal, selfish, almost _childish_ thing, but it had just become one more way in which their distance hurt.

Her awareness of him through the Force only compounded things, especially at night - when she had time and opportunity to lie awake and stew in her thoughts. He was always there, just at the edge of her awareness, and sometimes she would reach out through it (afraid of what she might find) and sometimes she hesitated (afraid of what she wouldn't), but neither action ever brought her any kind of satisfaction. 

Tonight was one more night of the same; action and inaction, hesitation and dissatisfaction. There was nothing remarkable about it, except that they were on the tail end of a supply run - that the morning would bring with it a cast iron excuse to avoid awkward conversation. It still took, ridiculously, all of her steel to make herself do this simple thing, though \- to stand, pulling on a robe over her thin nightclothes and, after a long moment's further hesitation, pad quietly across the ship in search of her goal.

-

He was alone, at least; in the conference room, fiddling with a stylus as he stared blankly at the datapad in front of him, nominally working but realistically falling asleep, even in those uncomfortable chairs. Exhaustion clung to him, like spiderwebs; ethereal, but to those caught in their trap, deadly. It clung to her, too - dragged around her feet, tugging her back towards her bed. It was exhaustion that made her lean against the doorway, in lieu of entering the room - of closing yet another distance between them.

'Malavai.'

He jumped, at the word - he hadn't been expecting anyone, not this late. Especially not her, and when he looked around and spotted only her his mixture of relief and intimidation did not set her at ease.

'My Lord,' he just replied, not dropping the formality even when it was just the two of them. It wasn't a habit she usually held against him - but now, here, it was another reminder of all the things that had come between them.

'It's late,' she just said, though - smiling gently at him, just a little. There were few smiles when there were others present, and fewer still that were gentle - she had a reputation to maintain, after all. 'Your reports will still be there in the morning. Come to bed.'

'Is that an order, my Lord?'

He'd asked her that once before - when their romance had been young, when Baras had been yet to turn on her. It had been playful - there'd been lust in his eyes and a smile on his face. There was none of that now, though - just exhaustion, and something bordering on irritation.

('Do I have to make it one?' she'd replied, turning the chair he was sitting on to face her and sitting astride him. He'd chuckled, leaning in for a kiss which she'd returned - she hadn't had to, no, and even if she had, it would have been one he'd gladly have obeyed)

Her smile, tired and weak as it was, faded at that. 'No,' she replied, 'I suppose it isn't.'

She left, alone.

-

Sleep seemed even more impossible after that than it had before, but Eirn tried anyway - draping her robe on a chair and, once back in her now cold bed, dimming the lights entirely. The rejection stung, even as it should not have been unexpected. Malavai was more distant than ever, even as they shared the same bed, and she... well, negotiating the intricacies of relationships of equals was never something that Sith were ever expected to have to learn - or need. Not what was expected of Sith of her standing, perhaps, but for all her acute embarrassment over her parent's eccentricities, it had never failed to escape her notice how much happier they seemed.

It was impossible not to hear him when he entered their quarters; as he fussed in the fresher, as he hissed in pain when he stubbed his toe on something in the dark, as he changed and - gingerly - got into bed. He did his best not to disturb her, at least - he was careful, and considerate, and it was his caring that got to her the most. The glances when he thought she wasn't looking, the attention he still paid to her slightest movements, the anticipation of everything she might have needed and the absences when she noticed.

'Eihn?' His voice was quiet, when he spoke; hopeful, and reluctant, and a little afraid, all at once. At what, she didn't know - whether he was more afraid she'd respond, or more afraid she wouldn't.

She didn't reply, though; she had nothing to say that might have salvaged the situation, and part of her just wanted to punish him for his earlier snub. Her eyes remained closed; her breathing remained steady. She hadn't heard him - had fallen asleep on her own, in his absence. If he suspected she was awake, he didn't force the issue, and just settled into bed; hesitated, for a long moment before eventually rolling over to attempt to sleep, himself.

He fell asleep rather quickly, all told. She, on the other hand, was not nearly so lucky.

-

When she woke the next morning, he was already gone, the sheets on his side of the bed neatly tucked in; when she reached across, the bed was still warm. She just closed her eyes again, at that - emptied her mind, reached out through the Force, and found him in the galley, listening to propaganda on the HoloNet and autopiloting his way through morning rations. It wasn't even a surprise, any more; they'd settled into an uncomfortable routine without even noticing, and she had no clue how to break it.

She knew that in theory she could pull rank at any time, order him to talk to her - even as she felt guilty for just having that thought (and ridiculous for the feeling of guilt). She was Sith - or supposed to be Sith, anyway - she was supposed to seize what she wanted with both hands, to reshape the galaxy in her own image and trample on all who got in her way. The truth of it though was that she wasn't even sure what she wanted - just that what she currently had wasn't it.

-

Docking with Vaiken was almost a relief. Over the course of her apprenticeship and subsequent hanging out to dry, the tedium of resupply stops had never once held any appeal but now, for once, it was welcome. She could slip away from her crew and lose herself in the crowds, becoming temporarily anonymous. Sith were, by and large, attention seekers - and she, who'd once dreamed of a life on the stage, was no exception, but here and now, being one amongst many was welcome. 

She had no way of knowing how long it was until someone recognised her, but it was several hours before someone summoned the courage to approach her. She was nursing a tasteless mug of caf that had long gone cold, sat alone at a table overlooking the market level and all its chaos. There were few others up here, conducting discreet meetings or simply, like Eirn, removing themselves from the noise and bustle of the Vaiken marketplace. Her visitor stuck out like a sore thumb, though - a lowly Private, a human girl who looked to be all of about eighteen years old and who was probably fresh out of boot camp.

'My Lord- I'm sorry, my Lord, I don't mean to interrupt, my Lord-'

She looked at the girl - not kindly, but not unkindly, either, a sort of long and expressionless stare that only sent the Private spiralling into further depths of naive terror. In addition to all her other qualities, she had an accent which suggested she came from an occupied Republic world, rather than a native Imperial one - and she was, Eirn could only assume, the point at which her Moff's chain of command had run out of lower rungs on which to delegate the task of pestering the Emperor's Wrath.

'-please forgive me, I am here on behalf of M-moff Regus, my Lord, he asked me to-'

'Slow down, Private. Sit,' Eirn added, gesturing to an empty chair at the table. The girl sat, extremely promptly - extremely stiffly, and immediately hesitated, uncertain she'd even done the right thing. Eirnhaya was acutely aware that they were both being watched, even beyond the normal levels of Sith paranoia - which was why she took her time, running her thumb along the edge of the mug of caf and choosing her words carefully.

'Now,' she said, after a long moment, 'Who sent you, and what do they want?'

-

_Grand_ Moff Regus, it eventually emerged, was currently stationed on a nothing backwater called Ilum - an early Imperial victory that the Republic, reeling from their initial strikes, had failed entirely to undo. The terrified Private came with a holocommunicator, and that came in turn with a link to the Moff himself, who won Eirn over mostly through a total lack of the usual bowing and scraping she'd endured of late. Polite, yes - deferential, yes, but unlike so many didn't waste her time on bootlicking and lost causes.

'So let me get this this straight.' This was where the mug of caf came in useful; it was something to fiddle with, something to look at other than Regus's terrified Private. 'You're having a minor Pub infestation problem that your own troops can't handle, and you want me to come and be your exterminator.'

' _I- well, when you put it like that, my Lord-_ '

'Sure,' she just replied, not letting him finish that sentence. 'Why the hell not.'

How bad could it possibly be?

-

It was a distraction, yes, but she needed those all the more, of late. The less busy she was, the more she had time to _think_ \- the more she had time to run her thoughts around in worried knots, the more she was tempted to compulsively refresh her HoloNet alerts for news on the Dread Masters, the more she would pray every time she did that nothing would come up and the more she'd find a million ways to only feel worse when nothing inevitably did.

Her distractions on the trip there were a training droid in the cargo bay, its blaster modified to cause an electrical shock, rather than its usual searing burn; the overture from _The Bride of Taris_ turned up as loudly as she could stand it (and then a notch higher, for good measure; Broonmark, much to he crew's displeasure, had decamped into their regular quarters as a result), a training saber, and a blindfold. No armour; nothing to protect her from a hit if she dawdled, that might restrain her movements or make her feel at ease, just a loose vest and pants between her and a short, sharp, shock. Blot out as many of her senses as she could, and still fight; honing her focus, her ability to push through the pain, her ability to hear and see and feel even when everything else about her was pushed to breaking point.

Blot out the part of her that, left alone with nothing to do, would think too much and do too little.

She couldn't feel the droid itself; it was a machine, and like most machines, had no attunement to the Force itself. She could feel the effects it had on the space around her, though \- the way the air moved around it, the way the _Force_ moved around it- the sounds as it fired (the action of it firing, its mechanisms working together, working against her), the heat of the air as that energy moved through it, and the wake that each bolt left behind.

She could sense her crew, though; their irritation, their boredom. Jaesa's oasis of calm in the conference room. Vette and Pierce on the bridge, bonding over a shared dislike of Imperial rations. Broonmark, trimming and sharpening his claws, lost in thought as he listened to intelligence updates on the Talz forces on Ilum. Malavai, eternally a knot of nervous energy that mirrored and complemented her own, performing his own rounds on the ship and, inevitably, drawn to her own oasis of chaos in the cargo bay.

He spoke; she couldn't hear him, over the music, but she could sense his caution and hope and fear - and his pause, after speaking, as he waited for some acknowledgement or reaction. 

She considered ignoring him, too - pretending she hadn't heard him (not a pretence, really) or sensed him, continuing with her distraction, and letting him wallow in the knowledge that she was _well_ aware of his presence and was choosing to pretend otherwise. That only lasted a moment, though - the split second it took to distract her from the task at hand, the one before she barely deflected one of those harsh electric shocks and, irritated (at the droid? at him? at herself?), threw the training droid into the far wall with the Force, which it hit with a _clang_ that was audible even over the music. Her training saber was dropped unceremoniously to the floor - the blindfold pulled off and the music, after a moment tapping on the relevant wall panel, muted. It was only then that she turned to face her intruder - crossing her arms before glancing him up and down.

'Malavai.'

He was waiting patiently for her - of course he was - standing almost at attention, though not quite.

'My lord. As your medical officer, I must ask that you lower the volume to a safe level. Prolonged exposure to such high noise levels may result in permanent hearing loss.'

'As my medical officer?' she repeated, trying to decide if he was being serious - if that was the only reason he cared, or if he wanted something else.

His stern facade broke at that, though, the businesslike illusion shattering as he took her remark as a humorous one. He even smiled, starting to add something else and interrupted by, of all things, the training droid - which, despite her throwing it against the wall, had not lost the fight and had in fact lined up a perfect shot, right between her bare and waiting shoulders.

-

A harsh shock, yes, but no lasting damage, outside of the bruises to her ego. Her modifications had been a warning, the exercise one designed for fumbling apprentices more than Lords of the Sith. Malavai insisted on fussing over her, though, and she didn't have the will or energy to refuse him. She even caught herself enjoying the attention, for a moment - the proof that, difficult as things were, he cared.

It wasn't injury from the (now deactivated) droid that concerned her, either - it was how easily she'd allowed herself to be distracted. By Malavai - by their problems? so completely thoroughly that she hadn't even picked up on the droid's movements. Never mind the ease with which the exercise had been shattered. She sighed irritably, at that - felt scattered and scatterbrained, cracked not just at the edges but all the way through, fractured right to her very core and only held together by the pressures on her from the outside.

That train of thought was sharply derailed itself, though - by Vette, of all people, bouncing into the room and stopping short only when she spotted the Sith.

'Hey, Admiral, have you- oh. Hi, Eir.'

'Vette,' she replied - re-crossing her arms, and focusing all her attention on the Twi'lek.

'Uh,' Vette replied - glancing awkwardly around before finally realising she was not making things easier, 'Just... wanted to let you know we're dropping out of hyperspace soon. And, um...' she added, trailing off as Eirn just nodded, moving to leave before Vette had even finished talking.

'Then we'll need to prepare for docking. Get your gear ready, both of you.' Getting off the ship could only be a blessing - an escape, and a welcome one.

'Yeah,' Vette murmured, 'I'll... do that, then...'

-

Ilum itself was every inch the desolate hole that Regus had promised it was, a frozen wasteland that nobody in their right mind would want to possess - were it not for the saber crystals that the Jedi loved so much, or the new uses that Imperial science had found for them. As distractions went, it was passable. There was plenty to do - a stubborn Jedi occupying the ruins, a band of Kaleesh camping in the mines, and even a valiant (if doomed) attempt at Republic re-occupation. It was busywork - kept her occupied, kept her moving, kept her from having to stew and think. It was deadly, if done incorrectly, but it was easy.

And then, almost without warning, it wasn't.

-

The worst of it was that Malgus wasn't actually _wrong_. 

She might have been Sith in every possible sense of the word, but the impurities in her own bloodline had given her a taste of how the Empire treated those it deemed unworthy. It hadn't escaped her notice, either, that it was humans who were the power in the so-called Sith Empire; who sat on the Dark Council, who commanded their armies and who saw to it that it was not, where possible, human blood that oiled the Imperial war machine. Far too much of the Empire refused to entertain the use of aliens of anything but slaves, and there were some, she knew from personal experience, who didn't even like _that_. You couldn't fight a war with a slave army, though - not if you wanted it to win, not if you wanted it to _want_ to win. 

It didn't change the fact that Malgus had stabbed the Empire in the back, though - that not only had he done that, but he'd declared _himself_ to be a new Emperor, as though this was a position he had any right to claim. 

In a single move, he'd turned the war into one with two fronts; against Malgus and his fellow traitors, which they stood a chance of winning. Against the Republic, which loath as she was to admit it, had slightly closer odds, both here and in the galaxy at large. The Empire's resources were stretched thin as it was, and in his betrayal, Malgus had only succeeded in spreading them even thinner. 

He couldn't have picked a worse moment.

Or a better one, depending on one's perspective.

-

'You're... really going to kill him, Master?'

Jaesa was... hesitant. Eirn wasn't entirely surprised; Malgus was spouting almost _Republic_ ideals, even if they were filtered through a Sith lens. The dark look that the Jedi got from Malavai for it was not unexpected, either - the two rarely saw eye to eye. Indeed, Eirn was quite certain that he considered Jaesa the least trustworthy of her crew - a fact which came with its own unpleasant irony.

'Malgus has killed a lot of good people in the name of this 'new Empire', Jaesa,' she replied, darkly. 'Don't forget that.'

'<Traitors to the clan will all pay in blood!>' Broonmark was on board with it, at least, though the Talz could be counted on to support anything that potentially involved a bloodbath. 

  
Eirnhaya, though, just smiled coldly. 'That's the plan.'

-

Eirn had heard the stories about the Emperor's station - well, _some_ stories. She doubted they were all of them; she doubted they were all true, and she doubted they were all stories. She doubted, equally, that Malgus had truly located it, never mind commandeered it; that his forces, alien or otherwise, had overwhelmed the Emperor's own and had claimed arguably the most secure location in all Imperial space. The fact that the Hand had been entirely silent on the matter only leant support to her doubts - surely they'd have called on her, in such an emergency?

(She didn't stop to contemplate the other doubts that thought raised, though they lingered; nestled away in the corners of her unconscious, tucked away for a rainy day)

Boarding it cleared a number of those doubts right up - the Emperor may not have currently occupied the station itself, but he had, and recently. There were no physical signs left behind, but the echoes of his power lingered, like the scent of rain after a heavy storm. Like blood on a battlefield. Like death in a morgue.

-

_Fitting, that they should send the Wrath. Tell me; has he ever spoken to you himself? Or do you simply do the bidding of others?_

-

Malgus was not Baras.

This was self evident \- and yet not, at the same time. Where Baras had played his games from the shadows, growing weaker in body as his power was exercised through the work of others, Malgus had never left the front lines of the war. It showed, too; the man was physically fit in a way Baras had not been, and that was without his command of the Force. With it - and here, in the seat of the Emperor's power - he was a presence in a way that any Sith would aspire to, and most never achieved. For one brief, terrifying moment, Eirnhaya was filled with doubt - felt infinitely small, compared to him, and endlessly out of place.

Malgus must have sensed it, too - because he caught her eye, and chuckled darkly. 'I take it back,' he said, 'This is hardly fitting at all. All the tales they tell about the Wrath, and it turns out she's a terrified child.'

Humiliation, and shame, along with that fear - the conviction he was right, that she had no place here. That moment ended as soon as it had begun, though, swallowed back along with the lump in her throat. There was no room for hesitation, here. Her insecurities would have to wait.

'Why don't you come down here,' she responded though, finding her voice and steeling it as best she could - her saber drawn, her allies at her back, 'And I'll show you the truth in those tales.'

-

By the time she escaped from the debriefing, inclusive of a side trip to the medical wing, the victory party was in full swing.

It wasn't just the defeat of the traitor, Malgus; there had been a victory scored on the other front in the war here, and the Empire's surviving troops were taking a well earned opportunity to drain the cantina's supply of alcohol. Their supplies had been fortified by raiding what the Republic had left behind; not much had survived the trip back to the Imperial outpost, but what had - and what hadn't been impounded by the base's authorities - was being readily distributed among the victors.

Eirnhaya ended up with a bottle of whiskey, ostensibly for a table; what she didn't mention was that the table was a private one, and that she was leaving her crew to celebrate in their own way. She didn't want to ruin their fun - they'd earned it, and not just on Ilum. They seemed to have found it without her, regardless; Broonmark and Pierce had already ended up on an expedition hunting down the last scraps of Pub resistance, and Vette was taking Jaesa on a tour of the cocktail menu. 

The only one of her crew she couldn't immediately account for was her Captain, and he wasn't answering his holo - it took haranguing one of the base's droids to establish he'd passed on the party entirely and had already retreated back to the ship. It didn't come as a surprise; if anything, she was a little relieved. 

She considered following him, for a long moment, but realised that even if she did, she had nothing she felt capable of saying - nothing, at least, that wouldn't make things all the worse.

-

The most galling thing was that Malgus hadn't actually been _wrong_.

She was afraid; it was fear that drove everything she did, and always had been. Not anger, not ambition, not even love - fear, whether it was of pain or loss or simply the yawning abyss. She was supposed to be an object _of_ fear - something that others lost sleep over, and yet here she was, losing more sleep over phantoms than (it felt, at times) all of her enemies put together. Giving up on Sith orthodoxy and finding a quiet niche, like her mother had, was entirely out of the question; Baras had seen to that, her refusal to play her part in his schemes thrusting her into a spotlight she hadn't wanted and a role she could barely play.

It occurred to her, the idea bubbling up from the bottom of her whiskey, that she could probably be more proactive about her problems. Tackle them head on, instead of sitting around in bars on desolate hellholes waiting for her problems to pass away when she wasn't looking - or, as was more likely, come to deal with her. It was an approach which had served her passably in the past; sometimes well, sometimes not so well. But it was better, the whiskey insisted, than letting her problems handle _her_.

Most of her problems she didn't feel equipped to handle, at least not in her current state of mind, but there was a problem she _could_ tackle. She live up to her heritage for once and demand an outcome. Demand answers. Demand change. Demand... _something_. 

-

She regretted this course of action for every second it took between leaving Ilum's surface and arriving at the planet's orbital station. Whiskey and shuttle rides, it turned out, were a problem unto themselves - even if it was one she managed, barely, to keep contained.

-

Her ship was almost empty, though Twovee's enthusiastic greeting robbed her of any element of surprise. The spiral of apologies and drunken recrimination that followed was enough all by itself to draw her quarry from the bridge - a little worse for wear, but nowhere near as much as she was, and not for nearly the same reasons.

'Mal.' 

'My lord,' he replied - regarding her warily, and adding, 'Are you-'

'We need to talk.' Not a pleasant string of words by any stretch, but she was too tired and too drunk to deal in anything but ill-thought-through clichés. 

'I don't disagree, my Lord,' he replied, studying her as he talked _(judging her_ , she thought, irritably) _,_ 'but this is hardly the time-'

'No,' she said, firmly - gesturing with the hand that didn't have a whiskey bottle in it, as though this was supposed to convince him, 'Now is _exactly_ the time. You've been,' she continued, egged on by the whiskey, 'avoiding me-'

' _Me_?' He sounded almost indignant - no, he _was_ indignant, and then his manners caught up with his indignation and he added, 'My lord, with all respect-' (and he drew himself up to his full height, at that - standing almost at attention, before emotion got the better of him)

' _Excuse me_ -'

'-if anyone's been avoiding- _us_ ,' he finished, not letting her interrupt, 'It's _you_.'

'...Me?' Eirn managed, rather taken aback. Self awareness was not a quality cultivated in Sith \- especially not drunk ones - and in this, Eirn was hardly unique. The accusation had caught her off guard, though, as had the manner of his making it \- his defensive anger, his pent up frustration - directed at _her_! - and she was groping for a comeback when he got there first.

'Something's been wrong for months. Don't try to deny it,' he was ranting, now - his own frustrations taking hold of him. 'Nobody will say anything, but the whole crew has been on eggshells around you. Your apprentice won't admit she has any idea what the problem is, but she's the only one who hasn't been complaining.I've even had _Vette_ asking me if I know what's wrong.'

She just listened to him as he vented - as his own frustrations bubbled over and smothered hers. This wasn't quite the way she'd envisioned this conversation unfolding. The whiskey remained unhelpfully silent on the matter - only offering the opinion that standing was an awful lot of work, and that perhaps the floor would be more comfortable.

'I had wondered,' he added, continuing to speak even as he deflated, 'If it was anything to do with- Lord Baras, and I know,' he said, his own guilt flaring, 'I have had my own... indiscretions, and I have tried to make amends, but... he's dead, Eihn. And... nothing's changed.'

He looked at her, and it hurt; he was vulnerable, and so was she. She didn't know what she'd been expecting - hoping for? - but it wasn't this, and the more he talked, the more she wasn't certain he was wrong.

(He'd never mastered the correct pronunciation of her name; one reason among many that he rarely said it, even when it was just the two of them) (and when he said it now, he sounded desperate; lonely and in love and wondering if he'd ever see her again the way they'd once seen each other) (and it was that, in the end, that undid her)

'I didn't,' she started, though - not even sure where she was going with that thought - trying to protest and running up against her own lack of conviction in it. 

'I don't,' she added, after a long moment - realising, eventually, that she was avoiding his gaze again. Any other Sith would never have stood for such insubordination - but she wasn't any other Sith. She was Eirnhaya Illte, supposedly the Emperor's Wrath, someone still convinced she was only such because she'd been in the wrong place at the right time - drunk and in love and in pain and with no idea how to handle any of the above.

After a long and silent moment, she sat down on the couch, hard - took a delicate further moment in placing the whiskey bottle carefully on the floor and, on finding herself with no idea what to do next, simply buried her head in her hands. After an even longer moment, she felt him sit next to her; she leant against him as he pulled her close and she realised, as he did that, that this was possibly the most honestly they'd talked in months.

'My lord,' he started \- and then, 'My love. Talk to me. _Please_.'


	5. Divulgation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberties have been taken with the timelines.

Eirnhaya didn't remember falling asleep, though presumably she must have, if only because she woke up - almost face down - in bed, though this was mostly on a technicality. One of her arms had gone numb, where she'd rolled over onto it during the night; the other was cold, where it hung awkwardly out over the edge of the bed, escaping out from under the blankets despite the best intentions of (and she stopped that thought right there - cut it off before it reached its prime, and stuffed it somewhere she wouldn't have to think about its consequences).

(she was still dressed, mostly; fished through her memory and just found her confrontation with Malavai, which made her cringe. fished across the bed and only found its customary empty fading warmth, and felt the slightest twinge of guilty relief. didn't bother to fish around for her dignity; she'd lost that a long time ago, and now could no longer pretend even to him she had any)

-

One of the many perks of having her own ship was her private fresher - a place that had borne witness to more sins and failures than she cared to admit recalling, or recall admitting. It wasn't the most luxurious fresher in all of known space, but it was private - and it had honest-to-goodness _water_ attachments, instead of the sonic ones in the crew quarters.

(Malavai had always known it existed, given the obsessive way in which he studied everything around him, but when he'd seen inside in person for the first time she'd felt more than just a stab of envy from him) (the first time she'd suggested they shower together, he'd complained about the amount of water such an endeavour would waste) (and then, as if to punish her for bating him in, he'd made her cum hard enough that her legs had buckled out from under her, refusing after that to hold her upright - so much so he'd had hold her up and, when that had failed to suffice, to carry her to bed) (and even then they hadn't relented - _he_ hadn't relented, utterly merciless in his servicing and subjugation of his lord)

Now, though, it was just her - and her hangover, and her lingering guilt and humiliation. Her training might have given her an advantage when it came to metabolising poisons in the body, but even Sith brains felt the dehydrating effects of alcohol; less acutely than human ones, perhaps, but felt it all the same. Staring at her reflection in the mirror didn't help, either, though she ended up doing so anyway - criticising herself for her tired stare, the dull bags under her eyes, her untamed mop of hair. Once upon a time it had had a style other than simply 'short'; currently, it was self-evidently the result of having gone far too long without proper care and attention. 

In that respect, it had much in common with the rest of her.

-

She was picking through her clean clothing for something to wear when the door to her quarters opened - when she started, not least because all she had between her and the world was a towel, drawn around her torso as she dripped from her shower.

It was Malavai - alone, and awake, and fully dressed (in uniform, naturally; he did own other clothing, though Eirn had never seen him wearing it), as surprised to see her as she was to see him, holding a mug of caf in his hands - and only after the moment had lasted longer than it had to did he step inside, letting the door close behind him.

'I- wasn't certain you'd be awake,' he managed, offering her the caf - which she took, after a brief moment. There was a nervous energy about him - more so than usual, and she wasn't certain that she wasn't the one to blame.

The gesture made her smile a little, though - he cared, even after everything she'd put him through, everything she'd done. Everything she'd failed to do. 'Thank you,' she managed, quietly - still not able to meet his gaze. She let him slip out of focus, for a long moment; closed her eyes and held the mug close, inhaling its scent. The caf was strong, and dark - hot and sharp and bitter, a knife cutting through her aching, sleepy senses.

(hot enough to have the needed effect; not hot enough to burn or scald when she took a sip, relishing the way her tongue objected to its taste before she swallowed)

'..I should-' he started, pulling back - his awkward uncertainty not making this or any other conversation any easier. He genuinely hadn't expected her to be awake, and seemed rather uncertain how to proceed.

'Stay,' she interrupted, surprising even herself. Not just the word - the way she said it. A request, not an order. The _please_ was bitten back, but when she finally made herself look up at him it seemed as though he'd heard it anyway. She didn't want him to go - now, or ever, and the thought of losing him on top of everything else was simultaneously terrifyingly real and ludicrously overwrought.

He hesitated, too - his eyes darting around her worried expression, before he finally made his decision. 'Get dressed,' he replied - somewhere between a request and a suggestion, aimed at _her_. 'If you need me, I'll be on the bridge.'

He was gone before she could further object.

-

Eirn ended up in soft, lazy clothing; a loose, comfortable vest, with loose, comfortable pants. She had no intention of being drawn into other people's battles today; she already had enough of her own. The thing about padding around the ship barefoot though, instead of pacing around it in armour, was that it made Eirn's movements far quieter - made it far easier to sneak up on her crew, even if it wasn't her intention. Even without directions from Twovee, even without his own admission, Malavai would never have been difficult to find; he'd been a sparking knot of nervous energy for as long as Eirn had known him, and she suspected that he likely always would be.

She realised, as she entered the bridge, that she'd never once seen him taken the captain's chair - even when she'd explicitly left the bridge to him. On the occasions she was otherwise engaged, he never took her place; he guarded it, but never warmed it. Even now, he stood at the pilot's console - checking and re-checking something against a datapad. After a too-long moment of watching him, though, she cleared her throat - a quiet announcement of her presence.

He wasn't startled - not in a rabbit-in-headlights manner, anyway, which she took to be a good sign. When he looked at her, it wasn't with surprise - or with hesitation, either. He just greeted her with a polite, 'My lord,' - accompanying his words with a small, deferential nod.

'Malavai,' she just replied, though - glancing at his datapad, at the view out of the windows, at him. 'Everything is in order, I hope? With the ship,' she added, perhaps unnecessarily.

'Of course,' he replied, not missing a beat. 'All systems are running at peak efficiency. All crew is accounted for. However, I would not recommend entering the cargo bay.'

'Good,' she managed - tempted to ask what the issue was with the cargo bay, before pushing it aside as an unwanted distraction. Whatever the problem was, she knew it would be well in hand - that much, she could trust him with. 'I- was hoping to continue our conversation from last night.'

He studied her, for a long moment. 'We needed to talk.'

She swallowed. Her own words, turned against her - not that it made them any easier to hear. 

'We do.'

-

It was a conversation he was willing to have in the privacy of their quarters, at least; her sat on the bed, her face buried in her hands as she tried to summon the will and energy to begin. Him sat on a chair, his moods buried beneath protocol and order, his thoughts flitting between her and the tasks he'd left behind to indulge her - trying to work out what she was going to say, and if she was going to say it.

'You remember... Belsavis.' 

The words came slowly, one at a time - pulled out of her, like splinters buried just beneath the skin. Keeping them within her was painful; removing them was painful. Each one left behind a wound, that bled; trying to staunch one meant delaying the removal of others, and all the while, those that remained inside burrowed ever deeper - became all the more unpleasant to drag into the light of day.

'The Republic's planetary prison,' Malavai replied - unnecessarily, perhaps. His mind was instantly working; she could sense it, beneath his patient exterior. Going through his own memories, trying to ferret out her secrets before she confessed them herself. She wondered, for a moment, what - if any - conclusions he'd already drawn.

'After... Ekkage,' Eirn managed, achingly slowly, 'Jaesa and I returned to- the Emperor's other task. The- Dread Masters...'

Saying their name was the hardest part - it had become a terror all of its own, even as the rational part of her mind screamed at the rest of her for her cowardice. Acknowledging the magnitude of her error - of all the things she should have known, and her stupidity for acting the way she had anyway.

Malavai, though, seemed nonplussed; he frowned a little to himself as he went over his own memories of the time. His own experience of Belsavis had been brief, and none too productive - he'd misjudged some of the local wildlife, soon after they'd landed, and had earned himself a broken arm and some thorough mocking from Vette for his trouble. He'd been stuck in medical facilities, as a result - the reason (one reason among many) that Jaesa had been her only company.

'I thought you said everything went according to plan,' he said, after a moment -a note of doubt had creeping into his voice.

(actually, it had been Jaesa who'd said it; Eirn had made her padawan swear an oath of silence on the ways in which things had not gone according to plan, and had been angry and terrified enough that Jaesa had complied, even while it hadn't been until much, much later that Eirn had pulled herself together for long enough to explain to the younger woman her reasons why) (and even then, Eirn wasn't certain that Jaesa really understood - not truly, if only because it required her to understand the Sith in a way that still seemed to elude her) (but, given the weaknesses that Eirnhaya had displayed, and that Jaesa had borne witness to, that was probably ultimately for the best)

'It did,' Eirn replied - heard herself reply, distantly. The rescue had gone as according to plan as it could have, between the Esh-ka and the Republic, and nobody important had been killed or seriously injured in the process.

_you'd still be the esh-ka's playthings if it wasn't for me_

'And then,' she added, quietly, 'I fucked up.'

-

She barely remembered the aftermath herself.

She'd pieced it together later, going over her shattered memories and filling them with fragments of overhead conversation, but her only personal memories were of fear and shame (and even calling them _that_ seemed to hardly do them justice). Her first clear recollection was of sitting in her shower, sobbing under cold water because all of the hot had been used up, soaking wet and shivering and unable to move from the spot on the floor that she'd welded herself to, a mixture of terror and humiliation pinning her down in a way that little else ever had.

(She'd locked herself inside their quarters; locked Malavai out, not wanting to face him, and - when she'd realised this - wanted to face him even less, because that would mean having to explain) (and while she was relieved that, at the time, he never asked her what was going on, she also failed entirely to see what she in turn had missed)

-

She couldn't have told him when it was that he moved - or when she had, for that matter, pulling her legs up onto the bed - curling into a ball, as though making herself a smaller target would be any shade of useful. When she realised he'd sat next to her, though, she was equal measures relieved and further humiliated; when he reached an arm around her to support her, she crumbled, and when he wiped away her tears, she hadn't even realised she'd begun crying. He didn't interrupt her, though - just held her, as she pulled her words out, one by one, swallowing what remained of her pride and, with a maddeningly staccato pace, attempted to unburden herself. He stroked her hair, gently; intertwined their fingers, holding her hands in his, and simply listened, until she was done.

(what she didn't share was the details of what they'd shown her, what they'd created and what they'd dragged out of her memories, what had haunted her nights and hunted her in the day; defeats and fears and failures far too personal for even him) (but what she did was what had ruined her; her sleepless nights and shattered meditations, the waking nightmares and constant, inescapable dread)

'You're still not sleeping well.' 

A statement, not a question, and Eirn felt fresh shame well up inside of her at that. Her weakness was on display for all who cared to see, even if the only one who'd admit to recognising it was right next to her.

'Some nights are better than others,' she replied, after a long moment. It was sort of true; at least, some nights were less awful. At least sitting next to him meant that she didn't have to look at him, and that thought sparked another feeling of guilty relief.

'You haven't been.. self-medicating?' 

Half a statement, half a question. Even if she couldn't make herself look at him, she could feel the way he looked at her - concerned. Protective. Worried. Wanting to help. Not sure how. Everything about this situation was wrong; _she_ was supposed to be the strong one and yet here she was, wounded in a way that no amount of kolto could heal, and sniffling like a scared child. 

'I'm not sure there would be much point,' she murmured, after a long and painful moment. There were a million half-baked reasons she could have given why, but the truth was that she wasn't even certain she deserved to. She'd brought this on herself, after all; hadn't been polite enough, in the one instance where it might have mattered. Hadn't been _strong_ enough. Hadn't been _Sith_.

He didn't reply to that - not immediately, anyway, and not with words. She closed her eyes again - leant against him, despite herself, trying to steady her breathing. When he pressed a kiss to her forehead, she failed, fresh embarrassed tears rolling down her cheeks, despite her best efforts - and he wiped them away for her, all the same.

-

Eirn didn't remember falling asleep, but she supposed she must have, if only because she woke up again - curled up under the blankets, more comfortable now than she had been that morning. She could feel Malavai's presence nearby, and on opening her eyes was a mixture of relieved and embarrassed to see he hadn't left her - rather, he'd taken off his shoes (of course) and was sitting up on his side of the bed, tending to whatever tasks he could on his datapad. He'd been in the process of moving, when she'd stirred - gently, so as not to disturb her, but moving all the same. When he realised she was awake he paused, though, turning his attention to her; offering her a gentle a smile, a gesture she returned as her nervous tension evaporated. 

'I apologise, my love,' he started, 'I-'

There was a knock on the door - impatient, and sharp, and Eirn realised that it had been a knock that had woken her to start with. She didn't even need to reach out to know who it was - she knew her crew's methods of getting her attention well enough.

'It's Jaesa,' Eirn managed, sitting up - and then, despite, Malavai's insistence, starting to get up. 'No,' she added, at his protests, 'It's urgent.' She couldn't tell _what_ , but she could sense her apprentice's anxiousness through the Force - and for all her faults, Jaesa at least knew not to bother her Master without good reason.

Eirn ducked into the fresher, to rinse the sleep from her face, and ended up running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to rid herself of the bed-hair look; when she re-emerged, it was to see that Malavai had already answered the door, and was attempting to draw Jaesa's reason for waking her out of the girl.

'Master. I apologise for the interruption,' Jaesa greeted Eirn with a small half-bow; the girl was nothing if not polite, and unlike Eirn, seemed none the worse for her own alcoholic encounters.

'Just- what is it, Jaesa,' Eirn replied, sighing. Distractions were welcome - to an extent, at least - but Eirn was too drained to play games.

'It's the Republic,' Jaesa replied, after a long moment. 'They've- put an announcement on the holonet. They're saying- well,' she managed, stepping back from the doorway, pulling towards the ship's holo, 'You should probably see this for yourself.'

-

_...i can finally confirm what many have suspected for months: the Sith Emperor is dead..._


	6. Attrition

Returning to Belsavis was something that Eirnhaya would generally have ranked between 'building a memorial to Darth Baras' and 'defecting to the Republic' as on her to-do list; it was not a thought that appealed to her, for reasons that were far too numerous and humiliating to enumerate. It was also impossible to avoid - refusing a request from the Imperial Guard came with its own endless spiral of ramifications, and Eirn was acutely aware of the precariousness of her situation.

The Hand broke their silence only to scold her for involving herself at Ilum, and to warn her against putting too much stock in the lies of the Jedi and the Dark Council. That second part had made her more cautious than the first; the Council weren't the ones spreading word of the Emperor's demise, even as she knew there had to be those on it whose only loyalty was to themselves. It was a thought she kept to herself, though, along with all the other heresies she didn't want to listen to.

She toyed with the idea of trying to track the Hand down - of attempting to trace back their calls and messages, hunting their point of origin in an attempt to force answers and information. Theirs was a secret as old as the Empire itself, though, and uncovering it wasn't going to be as simple as rooting out a traitorous Sith Lord or recalcitrant Padawan. It would take time and resources she didn't have - and that was to say nothing of the lack of trust that it would demonstrate. This, too, became a thought filed away for a rainy day; an idea left to gestate. A heresy left to fester.

-

'Of _course_ it's a lie.'

She'd switched the broadcast off almost defiantly, cutting Saresh off mid-sentence before crossing her arms and glaring at the now-empty space, as though it were personally to blame. This wasn't the first time the Republic had cast aspersions as to the Emperor's reach, and it likely wouldn't be the last, though claiming he was altogether dead seemed to be a new tack.

Her crew's reactions weren't difficult to discern, either; caution, indifference, cautious indifference. Ultimately their loyalties all laid with _her_ , a fact which alternately reassured and concerned her. She could already guess the impact this would have on the wider Empire, though; on the people whose faith in the Emperor was already shaky, on the Sith who take this as one more prompt to make a grab at power.

This wasn't going to just go away.

-

'So why come to me?'

Not that she was unsurprised by the request, for any number of reasons. The Imperial Guard served the Emperor personally, as did she, and this private, guarded briefing on Dromund Kaas was _almost_ something that she'd been half expecting for some time.

'Your mission may have been classified, Wrath, but it was carried out at the behest of the Guard. Your familiarity with the Masters, combined with your own command of the Force, will allow you to succeed where others would fail.'

_we will meet again_

Eirn kept her expression - and her emotions - carefully neutral. The Guard were blind, in theory, but the Guardsman was hardly the only reason she had to be cautious. Kaas was a suspicious, nervous city at the best of times, and the Republic's allegations had not been without consequence. She'd been expecting that to be the subject of any contact she had, in truth - some quest to ferret out proof of the Republic's lies, to shore up Imperial morale - not to chase down shadows and rumours.

'And this new mission?' she replied, cautiously. 'Can you tell me anything more?'

The Guardsman remained warily neutral in turn, revealing nothing more than carefully practiced and selected words. 'Only what I've already shared with you, Wrath.'

That wasn't much, either. The Empire had suffered a loss - a treachery worse, in its way, than that of Malgus. The- _them_ \- _they_ had disappeared into unknown space, ostensibly to commune with the Emperor, and then- nothing, falling out of the Empire's awareness altogether. Until now, it seemed - until they'd commandeered an army of their own, sending it to march on the planet that had once served as their prison. The Republic had failed to regain control of the planet - but the Empire had, similarly, failed to evict them entirely, either. It was an independently anarchic hole, into which _their_ followers had marched, in search of- _something_. Her task, apparently, was to find out what.

-

'The Guard are difficult to read. He spoke the truth, at least. His loyalty to the Emperor is... unquestionable.'

Jaesa couldn't tell Eirnhaya anything the older woman hadn't worked out for herself. Eirn had to wonder sometimes what Karr and Baras had seen in the girl that nobody else had - if it even ever had been about the young Jedi, or if theirs hadn't just been one more hate story that she and Jaesa had been unlucky enough to be caught in the middle of.

'Master?' Jaesa added, after a long moment came and went with no reply.

'What is it, Jaesa?' 

'I just- after last time...' Jaesa didn't manage to quite find the words to finish that thought, but Eirn could guess well enough where the girl was going with it. 

'I'll be prepared,' Eirn just replied. 'Or at the very least,' she added, forcing humour that tried to stick in her throat, 'A little more polite.'

Jaesa didn't laugh. Eirn wouldn't have, either.

-

_we will meet again, arrogant sith_

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No No No No nO nonOnono no onONn O

-

'My lord. If you have a moment...'

She had too many moments, and that was the problem. They were docked at Vaiken, taking on supplies before the trudge across the galaxy; she was pacing the ship, restlessly attempting to expend energy she didn't have and only succeeding in generating more. The moments collided into each other - stacked and staggered, building into minutes and tumbling into hours that took too long and not nearly long enough.

Static crackled between her fingers; fear, attempting to earth itself and only ending up stuck in the same perpetual loop, absorbed back into her body where it would linger for a while before finally surfacing again. The pain sparked adrenaline, and her heart continued to beat far too fast, and the galaxy continued to turn far too slowly.

'Captain.' Eirn looked at him - rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet, irritated at being caught pacing, at being unable to pace for as long as he kept her here. A thousand scenarios flashed through her head, each more outlandish than the last, and while she was beholden to neither them nor him she was still paralysed by them, in that instant.

'Of course,' she added - forced out, wincing internally at the way her voice cracked as she spoke. 'What is it?'

He cleared his throat, nervously - studied her, for a long moment, and then finally spoke. 'I took the liberty of doing some research into your.. condition,' he said, attempting to choose his words tactfully. They - and the droid - were the only ones aboard, and she rather suspected it was for her benefit that he was dancing around the issue.

At the mention of 'her condition', though, he became distant - she was aware he was talking, and tried to pay attention, but all she could think about was how little things had changed. She still couldn't sleep - not well, at any rate, and knowing that he knew and was therefore watching this had not helped. He was trying to reach out to her. She was trying not to pull away. It was harder than other people made it seem.

He hadn't stopped talking, though - was rambling, just a little, and only paused when he realised she was giving him a very blank look. 'It... should help you get to sleep at night. As well as help with your... dreams.'

It took her a long moment to process what he was saying; an even longer one to glance at the container in his hands, to pick through the fragments of the speech that had made it through her fractured haze and piece together what he'd been trying to get across.

_Medication. For me. He thinks I need to-?_

'Of course,' he added, 'It's entirely your decision. But the option's there, should you want it.'

Sleep, of a kind - not a natural sleep, but sleep, all the same. Red Sith were resistant to sleeping aids, and Red Sith trained in the Force, doubly so - but he would have known that, and compensated appropriately. Her biggest weakness here was pride; she hadn't much, but what she did, she clung to fiercely.

(There was an unspoken, unspeakable irony that it was her pride that led to so much of her humiliation; were she more self-aware, and a little less prideful, perhaps a lot of suffering could have been avoided - but self-awareness was not a quality generally cultivated among Sith)

'I'll... think about it,' she replied, eventually. 

-

_What the hell kind of Sith_

She looked at herself in her fresher's mirror, and knew that she was looking at exactly that sort of Sith.

_A pretender. A fraud. An imposter._

'Pathetic,' she muttered.

-

Sleep wasn't just impossible, it was repulsive. The idea of lying down and closing her eyes, embracing unconsciousness and all its vulnerabilities, was utterly horrifying. Her training - her affinity for the Force - gave her an advantage when it came to staying awake for longer periods of time, and it was one that she abused now more than ever. 

Blasting music was not, during the night shift, an option - at least, not if she didn't want to keep her crew awake, and making them _aware_ of her inability to sleep was an unacceptable course of action. Punishing exercises were, though; pushing her body ever further, losing herself in its rhythms and refusing to address the shadows that nipped at her heels.

(She closed her eyes for a few minutes, leaning against the cargo bay wall to catch her breath, and woke up three hours later - curled up in her bed, still fully clothed, her Captain sound asleep next to her, his arms looped around her in a protective gesture. She loved him, in that moment, more than she ever had - even as she wanted to crawl into the depths of a black hole, never to emerge)

-

It likely should have surprised her more that _they_ had acted in this way - turning their backs on an Empire that had risked so much to ensure their survival, ungrateful for the freedom that her blood and sanity had bought them.

It didn't, though, and she wasn't certain who that said more about.

-

The Belsavis air smelled better than she remembered. There was less desperation, less blood, less fire. She couldn't bring herself to breathe too deeply; her adrenaline saw to that, the humming high that she'd been riding ever since _their_ name had come up in briefing keeping her body on the edge of readiness and her mind from any kind of rest. The planet, though, had slipped into a lull - an easy state of constant cold warfare, each side as well armed and well supplied as the other, and none with any inclination to back down. _Their_ involvement had upset the balance, yes, but not by much; _they_ had only a passing interest in the planet itself.

_Over the course of the last twelve months, the Republic has launched no fewer than fifteen known and four further suspected attempts to retake the planet. Of those, the mean casualty rate has been estimated at fifty-six-point-three percent. Current planetary population is unknown but estimated to be anywhere between one point three..._

Malavai was a never-ending font of pointless, valuable information. Eirn just let him talk as she scanned the horizon, plotting her next move; his voice was soothing to listen to. Steady and reliable, like so much else about him. A rock, in the chaotic storm that was her life. It scared her, sometimes, how much she'd come to rely on him.

Had it really been a year?

'Yeah, but it's no match for Jae's perfume.' Vette had some quip to a statistic that Eirn hadn't been paying attention to, and the moment was shattered, but something about the girl's tone made Eirn smile.

'I was promised it's made from the tears of fallen Jedi. It's all the rage on the Kaas nightclub circuit,' Jaesa replied demurely, prompting a further high-pitched giggle from the Twi'lek.

_A whole year?_

-

It quickly became crystal clear that _they_ were nowhere to be found, a fact that did not set her at ease. _Their_ absence did mean a lack of confrontation - but it also meant a lack of easy answers, a lack of retribution, a lack of resolution.

_Their_ guard, though-

Eirn had met plenty of fanatics, on both sides of the war. Jedi, so single-mindedly devoted to Republic triumph they sold out every ideal they claimed to fight for to score any perceived victory against the Empire. Sith, so invested in the notion of their own victory that they undermined every perceived enemy - even at the cost of the war against the Republic. Fanaticism was a function of will, though - gave purpose, gave meaning, no matter how irrational. The Dread Guard-

It couldn't even be properly called possession. She'd seen that, too - on Korriban, and on Dromund Kaas, the results of ancient traps and curses gone awry. The Dread Guard just looked dead inside - enslaved in all possible ways, a fact that Jaesa confirmed. Capturing one wasn't difficult - there were plenty of them, holed up in one of the maximum security sections of the prison, tasked with breaking out compatriots, killing or forcefully converting anyone who didn't follow _them_ , and with securing- whatever it was _they_ had tasked them with.

(Dragging him back to a secure spot - holding him still for long enough for Jaesa to work her magic, wondering all the while if it would get them any useful answers, or just more unpleasant questions - that was the difficult part)

'Force help me,' Jaesa murmured, horrified, 'he...'

'He...?' Eirn repeated - prompted her apprentice. Jaesa had never shaken many of the bad habits the Jedi had instilled in her, and an inability to get right to the point was one of them.

'It's like... someone reached inside his head, and scooped everything out,' she stammered, visibly shaken. 'There's nothing of _him_ at all. No memory, no personality. All that's left is... obsession.'

Total, brutal, domination. Eirn had a feeling of how easy it must have been for them; she'd hardly been prepared to fight them, and had only been one, lone, Sith - but _their_ power was the stuff of legends for a reason. Not for nothing had the Republic kept them locked away in stasis - for Sith, as well as Jedi, death was not always the end.

'You can't stop them,' the Guardsman babbled, 'Nobody can. Only your Emperor commanded their respect, and he's _gone_. All that's left-'

Eirn, not in the mood for where that sentiment was going, snapped his neck.

Jaesa winced at the noise, but said nothing.

-

The Empire's staging post was the bare minimum that the war effort could spare, and it showed. Standard issue automatic defences, standard issue tenting, standard issue medical droid, standard issue makeshift bunks. Even those recruited from the ranks of Belsavis's inmates had turned up their noses, preferring to retrofit their cells with creature comforts looted from guard posts and bartered from Imperial soldiers. The food was standard issue, too - a mixture of Imperial and liberated Republic. Jaesa, in her innocence, had wondered why it hadn't been supplemented with the wildlife - right up until the extent to which _their_ Guard had been affecting said wildlife was detailed to her by an exasperated ensign.

Eirn had to admit - if only to herself - that even if it hadn't been for her insomnia, she'd have found it difficult to sleep, and not because of any qualities of the planet's own. There was something distinctly unsettling about being so close - in relative terms - to _their_ Guard, and the single-minded mission that they had. Not all of her comrades had her abilities, though, and she took their downtime as an opportunity to pore over the intelligence that had been gathered from _their_ Guard - to pick over datapads and intercepted radio chatter, narrowing down her task in an attempt to end it quickly.

(Half expecting and half afraid of some reference to herself; half disappointed and half relieved when nothing was found, simultaneously glad _their_ Guard had no idea who she was, and irritated _they_ 'd forgotten her so quickly) (and not even for a moment stopping to consider just how little of _their_ attention this corner of the galaxy was likely truly worth)

-

The Imperial Guard, it turned out, weren't the only ones with an interest in _their_ activities.

As a group of people \- of _Sith_ \- Eirnhaya had found herself with a vanishingly small amount of patience with the Dark Council. Unlike her former Master, she had no designs on the power they wielded; with power, came the expectation from people to use that power, and Eirn was happier without any of those particular responsibilities. Moreover, as her own brushes with them had proved, with power, came the desire of others to plant their lightsaber in your back in order to claim that power for themselves. Eirnhaya had never wanted to be Sith, in this particular definition of the word - the backstabbing of divas had always been a far more natural game to her, and she was more than happy to leave those who sat on the Council in their places.

(One advantage to the station of _Wrath_ , she'd ended up supposing, was that it was hardly coveted; feared, yes, but never envied)

Darth Nox was one of the few she'd had no previous encounter with, even in passing. Though Nox was no longer the newest member of the Council (that honour belonged to a Sith named Arkous, successor to Arho, successor to Baras, and Eirn had hoped that Arkous was a little smarter than his predecessors, if only for his own sake), she was its youngest - at least, as far as anyone could tell. A former slave with a murky, unknown past, Nox had - in true Sith tradition - murdered her way to the top of the pile, and constructed herself a throne from the corpses.

(Keeping tabs on the makeup of the Council was not a personal matter, so much as a professional one; given the threat she half-remembered issuing in the Council's chambers, on her ascendance, Eirn felt it prudent to keep abreast of the Council's shifting membership)

Nox was also here, on Belsavis - in person, unusually, in lieu of sending one of her faithful servants. A tiny scrap of a woman - a skinny little Zabrak who barely looked to be out of adolescence, and who was sloping around the Imperial staging post in simple acolyte's robes and the company of what Eirn could only assume was the Dashade she'd heard so many rumours about. Eirnhaya was also debating avoiding her - ducking into a tent or the breakfast mess, as futile as such an action might have been - when Nox ruined that plan by not just spotting her, but making a beeline for her, smirking all the while.

'Mighty Wrath,' Nox purred, as soon as she was in earshot, and Eirn wasn't sure if she was making fun of her or not. 'I was told I might find you here. I'm so glad I didn't have to go looking.'

'Dark Lord,' Eirnhaya just replied, though - erring on the side of caution, and bowing low. As Wrath, she only outranked the Dark Council when acting under the Emperor's orders; for now, she was somewhat lower in the Sith pecking order. 'May I ask what brings a member of the Dark Council out here?'

Nox just smirked. 'You may,' she replied, crossing her arms and revelling in Eirnhaya's irritation at the reply, before adding a more informative one. 'The same thing, I understand, that summoned the Emperor's Wrath. The Dread Masters, awful scamps that they are, sent their followers here to dig up an old Rakata toy. I'm here to dig it up first,' she finished, grinning wickedly.

_Old Rakata toys_ could neatly have summed up half of the problems on Belsavis, though that was a thought Eirn kept to herself.

'You imagine correctly, Dark Lord,' she simply replied - glancing over Nox's own associates again. Not just the Dashade - but an Imperial officer of her own, Reclamation Service judging by the uniform, and who was every inch as wiry as Nox herself. 'The Guard didn't mention that a member of the Council would be present, though.'

Nox just smirked again, and Eirn got the distinct feeling that this was not an avenue of enquiry she would enjoy exploring. 'The Imperial Guard aren't the only ones who watch this world,' she purred, 'But that's by the by. You're here now,' she continued, 'And are undertaking the task I require aid with. That's all that matters.'

'Of course, Dark Lord.' The longer this conversation went on, the more Eirn wanted it to end.

'Oh,' Nox added, and Eirn felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she did so, 'And, Wrath?'

'Dark Lord?'

Nox smiled, and Eirn felt the temperature drop several degrees. 'Tell your little songbird to mind her manners, before I'm forced to mind her head.'

Eirn followed Nox's glance, just for an instant; it was Jaesa, who had turned a milky white colour, and Eirn realised that she'd probably tried to get a read on Nox while the Councillor seemed distracted. 'Of course, Dark Lord. Please, accept my apologies.'

Nox, though, had already moved on. 'Now, then,' she purred, 'a little birdy told me you've already been gathering information on the Dread Guard. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to share?'

-

'Master-' Jaesa started quietly, taking advantage of a quiet moment while Nox was conferring with her own personnel.

'Not now,' Eirn muttered, more than a little darkly. She had her own theories as to what Nox wanted, and had neither time nor inclination to get into them. 'In the vicinity of' was the worst possible place to begin speculating on the motives of another Sith, and Eirn didn't want to antagonise any of the Dark Council more than she had to - not now, not here.

'I-' Jaesa began again, though - trying to stammer a protest and finally shutting her mouth firmly when Eirn shot her another dark look.

_Not. Now._

-

Darth Nox's presence - or more accurately, her entourage's manpower - served mostly to make an already simple task far easier. The Guard had three objectives - the maintenance of their base camp, which Eirn had already laid waste to much of. The acquisition of Rakata droids, which were currently under Republic control. The location of another Rakata 'toy' - a cannon emplacement, not currently controlled by either enemy, and only tentatively located by _their_ Guard.

'Usually I'd like nothing more than to spill Jedi blood,' Nox purred, almost pouting as she did so, 'But that cannon worries my Talos. The Dread Guard seem to think they can use it to push us off this backwater hole, and he rather believes them.'

'Dark Lord- if I may make a suggestion...' Malavai spoke up, and Eirn wished he hadn't, if only because of the predatory air in Nox's aura.

'Of course you may, pretty little man.' Nox's human-readable expression was syrupy sweet, but her tone just made Eirn think of flies gathering on shit.

If Malavai had a similar reaction, though, he hid it marvellously - his only pause coming in the form of an awkward clearing of his throat. 'If this cannonade is indeed functional, then securing it for ourselves could provide a valuable weapon with which to strike at the Republic forces.'

'It's... possible, yes.' Nox's _Talos_ \- her Reclamation Service officer. 'Assuming of course that it's in a usable state, but Rakata technology is remarkably resilient.'

'I quite agree,' Nox declared - clapping her hands together for effect. 'A marvellous idea, pretty man.'

-

'Do not fret, Mighty Wrath. Your pretty military man is of no interest to me.'

Eirn had no reply to that which wouldn't just make things worse, so she made as noncommittal a noise as she could manage and clamped her mental shields down further. Nox, for her part, just giggled at Eirn's reaction - a noise which sounded entirely unnatural, coming out of a powerful Darth.

_Emperor give me strength..._

-

Nox's apparent determination to get under Eirnhaya's skin aside, her presence - that of her and her entourage - were very much a boon. Nox herself was formidable, cutting through the Guard's ranks like a hot knife through butter, and Eirn could see why this scrappy, rather creepy, little Zabrak had ended up in the position she had. She was almost wasted on the Council - but that was a thought that Eirn kept to herself, tucked away somewhere Nox likely wouldn't sense it. 

When all was said and done, though, Darth Nox had herself new toys; the Empire had a victory, and Eirnhaya had a report she needed to file with the Imperial Guard. She had no doubt whatsoever that someone somewhere would take issue with her having let Nox take the Guard's toys for herself, but resolved that whoever that was could take it up with Nox - and wished them all the luck in the galaxy with doing so.

-

Returning to Belsavis had been... underwhelming, all told. 

Eirnhaya reflected on the whole thing on her own, under a hot shower in her private fresher; wishing it was a bath ( _a hot tub_ , she fantasised, _with ice-cold sparkling wine, and with Malavai..._ ), wishing she was planetside somewhere civilised - somewhere she could relax, even just a little. Nothing had changed, for either better or worse; half a complaint, and half a relief. Everyone who mattered had most of what they wanted, and nobody important had suffered for it - it was an ideal outcome, really. This didn't stop it bothering her, though; the myriad annoying questions that had been raised, and that she'd failed to shake out any satisfactory answers to.

When she stepped into her quarters, with only a soft towelling robe between her and the world, it was to see that Malavai was there, and half undressed - slowly peeling off his uniform, fastidiously neat even as he deposited his clothing to be laundered by the ship droid. It was a sight that made her smile, and not simply because of the view; it was a reaffirmation that this space was his as much as it was hers, and all the implications that flowed from that.

She had no element of surprise here, though; he'd heard the fresher door open, even if he was trying not to react to her presence. Not that she gave him much choice - padding across the room, slipping her arms around his waist, holding him loosely and affectionately and slightly awkwardly all at once.

'My lord,' he murmured - half a greeting, half a statement of fact - shifting position so that he faced her, before gently reaching up to her damp hair; tucking it behind her ear on one side, and ending up distracted as his fingertips grazed against her skin.

'My Captain,' she replied, smiling - reaching up to plant a kiss on his lips, relieved when he didn't pull back and all the more so when he returned it - when he looped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer for a long, gentle, blissful moment.

'You've already showered,' he said, when that moment had passed - murmured, again, pressing another kiss to her forehead. Half observation, half disappointment.

'I have,' she replied \- closing her eyes, and leaning against him. He was comfortable, and warm, and she was almost utterly exhausted. _Almost_. 'But I could be persuaded to take another.'

-

It didn't make it any easier to sleep; she still lay wide awake for hours as her mind chased itself around in circles, listening to Malavai sleep and wishing it came more easily to her. Thinking about that dead expression on the Dread Guard's faces. About the medication stashed away in her nightstand. About the obscene amount of power that Nox had wallowed in. About the shit that she was wallowing in.

She just sighed, at that, though; closed her eyes, and curled a little closer to her Captain. Sleep, and especially restful sleep, might be something proving difficult to obtain - but that didn't mean she couldn't try.


	7. Obstination

Downtime was not a concept that the Emperor's Wrath could reasonably be allowed to entertain - at least, this was the distinct impression Eirnhaya had ended up with.

She had wondered more than once what had been expected of previous Wraths - did they have constant work? A retreat they were expected to withdraw to? The Hand were silent, she had no way of contacting them, and anonymously asking the Holonet what it knew produced only a slew of propaganda and insane conspiracies. Part of her itched to trawl the Imperial archives, but they were closed to her - besides which, she suspected that any useful information would have been scrubbed centuries ago. The best she could do for now was try to keep busy, act as though she knew what she was doing, and try not to get caught indulging in too many heresies.

So, business as usual.

-

As with almost everything concerning Sith, there was no hard-and-fast rule concerning the relationships Sith had with their families; such things varied on a Sith-to-Sith basis. 

Eirnhaya's relationship with her parents was difficult, for numerous reasons. As a young child, she'd all but worshipped her parents - but as she'd gotten older, and required to train in the Force, she'd become acutely aware of her father's shortcomings in that area - of the reasons that her mother's family had disowned them. By the time she'd been old enough for entry into the Academy, she was actively ashamed of her father's inadequacies - and of her mother, for settling for him. It was a position she'd since revised, for multiple reasons, but by that time the damage had long been done.

Contacting her parents was always an awkward proposition, and one of the many reasons she was grateful for the privacy of her own quarters on her ship. Here, she could at least keep the attendant embarrassments private - at least, as private as things could ever be reasonably expected to remain.

It was a mixture of guilt and familial obligation that made her keep in touch at all; ever since her sister's death, her mother had been... _fragile_ , and Eirn's own year-or-so pretending to have been murdered by Baras hadn't helped matters. Reconnecting with them in the aftermath had been a trial in itself, especially since Eirn hadn't had the opportunity to do so in person - a fact that her father needled her about every opportunity he got. Fortunately for her, though, there was none of that today - he was occupied elsewhere, so Eirn just got the gift of her mother's conversation and judgement - all via real-time holocomm.

'Honey, I'm so glad to see you're finally growing your hair out. You look much better with it long.'

Eirn just winced at that; it was unintentional, a symptom of her indecision more than any concerted effort for change. 'Thank you, mother,' she just replied, more than a little awkwardly. 'How is Darth Orsus?' she added, changing the topic away from her appearance.

'He is well,' her mother replied, diplomatically. Orsus was her mother's Master - and had been the one who'd forced Eirn to admit her sensitivity to the Force, something for which Eirn had never forgiven him. 'Telling anyone who'll listen that he was the Wrath's first tutor.'

_Of course_. 'He should probably be careful who he says that to,' Eirn replied, sighing. The last thing she wanted was for a storm to arrive on her doorstep because of an obscure Darth who couldn't resist talking himself up.

Her mother, though, was not amused. 'I know you've never liked him, Eir,' she said, 'But that doesn't make him your enemy.'

'That's- not what I meant,' Eirn said, sighing again. This wasn't going well at all. 

'Besides which,' her mother added, 'He's more than capable of defending himself, as am I.'

There was a message in there, somewhere, but Eirn was too annoyed and too distracted to even begin unpacking it. She didn't even get a chance to respond before her private comm issued an interruption, and she glowered at it, privately grateful for a way to end this conversation. Another incoming call - no identifier, either, which always boded well.

'I have to go, sorry. Duty calls,' she managed - not sad this conversation had been cut short. Arguments with her mother were never pleasant, and she had enough shit on her plate as it was. 'Tell father I said hello.'

'I will.' Her mother smiled, and Eirn got the feeling it wasn't particularly genuine. 'Goodbye, Eir.'

-

_I'm not going to discuss this on an open channel, Wrath. Meet me in my chambers on Dromund Kaas_.

-

The Sith Sanctum in the heart of Kaas City might have been a rabbit warren, but it was at least a warren with air conditioning - a necessity in the midst of Kaas's jungles. Eirnhaya had never relished being summoned to Kaas at all - never mind to its Citadel, a bleak and impersonal fortress in a bleak and impersonal city. It didn't help that most of her trips to the Citadel had been to listen to Baras talk at her while he tortured someone - or to otherwise perform her late and unlamented Master's dirty work. 

Her host for today was Darth Acina, esteemed member of the Dark Council and, according to what she'd been able to pull off the holonet, head of the Sphere of Technology. Eirnhaya hadn't run across Acina before, at least not to her knowledge; she certainly hadn't been present when Eirn had stood before the Council herself, though her attention at that time had been on other things.

'You certainly took your time getting here.' Acina was nothing if not barbed in her assessment of Eirn's timekeeping. Apparently she hadn't dropped everything with sufficient urgency. 

'A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dark Lord,' Eirn just replied, dryly. She'd never seen herself as someone who abused her station - _much_ \- but being talked to like she was a lazy and unreliable apprentice irritated her. 

Acina snorted, but let the comment pass. 'When I joined the Dark Council,' she started, 'The Emperor personally selected me to oversee his most treasured storehouse.' Her expression became a little smug, at that, and Eirn supposed she felt this a point of personal pride. 'A top secret facility, called _Arcanum_.'

The name wasn't familiar, and Eirn wondered if it was supposed to be. 'The Hand have never mentioned this facility to me before.'

Acina smiled - no, _smirked_ \- at that. 'The Hand give you information on a need-to-know basis, Wrath. They didn't tell you that, when they pulled you out of your grave?'

Eirnhaya just scowled, at that remark - bristled at the thought that Acina knew so much more than she did, and not about secret storehouses. That the Hand, who had all but ignored her since she'd dealt with Baras, were apparently not only in more frequent contact with this woman, but saw fit to share with her the nature of her recruitment-

(and she stopped that thought, at that - stamped on it, before she could be distracted by it any further)

'As I was saying,' Acina added, though, dropping that line of conversation entirely - derailing Eirn's annoyed train of thought, 'The Emperor's treasure-trove, Arcanum...'

-

Eirnhaya left the Citadel in a worse mood than when she'd entered it; hardly an unusual state of affairs, in and of itself. Acina herself was but one of the reasons for the downturn in her mood; the fact that _they_ kept nipping at her heels was another, even if she wasn't convinced that there was truly any grand design in place.

(even as she tried to convince herself that this was not the case; that, in the face of all the evidence, life was not fated and she could choose at any time to change the way events would end up playing out)

It was also raining, but this was mostly incidental; rain on Kaas was like snow on Hoth. Inevitable and, while occasionally irritating, far from the root of most problems.

Her mother's comment about her hair was still annoying her; she'd never liked that Eirn had cut it short - or _kept_ it short, and the idea kept bubbling up to get trimmed back simply to spite her. It was a spectacularly childish impulse, which was why she never followed through with the idea, but one she was tempted to all over again whenever she caught a glance of her reflection.

(the fact it still annoyed her, annoyed her; she was tired and ratty and tired of being tired and ratty, simultaneously vain and disdainful of vanity)

A bolt of lightning striking the Citadel distracted her, though - that, and the accompanying peal of thunder, and the way the rain decided to pelt down ever harder. Even the sky was irritable today.

-

The last time she'd cut her own hair she'd been twenty years old, standing in front of a fresher mirror in the Academy dorms; seething at her reflection and holding a knife in one hand, almost tight enough to warp the handle. It was hard not to feel disgusted with herself - with how _weak_ she was, how _scared_ she was. She placed the knife down on the washbasin, just for a moment; steadied herself, closing her eyes and trying to breathe and-

_If you were truly Sith_ , a voice whispered, in her mind, _then he'd never have seen you as prey. If you'd embraced your power instead of running from it-_

She punched the mirror, and instantly regretted it. Now she had a mess to clean up - and to hide the evidence for ( _another_ one; good job Eirnhaya, the Overseers will make an example of you themselves if you keep this up), more wounds to dress, more lies to try and spin. 

Her scalp still smarted, from where he'd pulled on it; where he'd seized her by the hair, her vanity becoming one more weapon that he'd turned against her. Letting her hair down from its braids took a torturously long time, as did teasing out its tangles - slowly, gingerly, so as not to pull at her already painful scalp any more than absolutely necessary. It was a ritual she usually found soothing, but, here, now - her body aching, her mind in knots and her knuckles freshly bloodied \- it just strengthened the angry, terrified knot that had formed in her core.

She looked back at the shattered mirror, and saw someone who wasn't quite her looking back out in each one of its fragments. And then, after a long and angry moment, she took the knife in one hand and her hair in the other and, with no particular plan in mind, began to cut.

(Her bunkmate had given her a lecture the next day about the perils of styling one's own hair, before tidying up the mess that had resulted) (the two of them had been fast friends, even if such a sentiment was not encouraged among Sith - they shared each other's secrets, to an extent, and watched each other's backs) (and when her bunkmate had later fallen to a rival, Eirn had avenged her friend, covering her tracks while making sure they knew, before the end, who it was they should not have crossed) (and while it had been as empty as all vengeance is, it was an act that drew influential attention - but that was another tale, for another time)

-

Acina's secure containment crates took up a not insubstantial amount of room in her cargo hold \- and Eirnhaya spent a not insubstantial amount of time standing in the hold, looking over the crates - their mechanisms, their locks - pacing, in a nervous, irritable fashion, and mentally listing the numerous ways that everything about this was a terrible idea. The Seeds were not untested, and this containment not unused, but if a lifetime in the proximity of Sith artefacts and technology had taught her nothing else, it was that powerful, arrogant Sith frequently underestimated the danger of the games they played.

'Eihn?'

Eirnhaya wasn't impossible to sneak up on, though her attunement to the Force made it more difficult than most - but her Captain startled her when he spoke, all the same. She'd been aware of him, peripherally; his presence on the ship, attending to other tasks, but had been so thoroughly distracted by her thoughts she hadn't felt him approach. She kept her reaction as neutral as she could, though - turning, after a moment, to face him.

'Mal,' she just replied, abbreviating his name in return - glancing over him, trying to get a read on him. 'What is it?'

Malavai using her name, though - that unsettled her, primarily because he never used it unless they were absolutely alone - and there was no guarantee they would be, outside of their quarters, which made her wonder just how long he'd been trying to get her attention.

'I've been- reviewing the mission briefing from Darth Acina.' He was nervous - more so than usual, and studying her closely for her reaction. 

'You don't trust her?' Eirn didn't trust the Dark Council on principle; they weren't just Sith, but powerful, influential Sith. Marr was clearly devoted to the Empire, but hadn't lasted as long as he had by being blind. Vowran had been an enormous boon during her campaign against Baras, but that just meant she was in his debt. Acina apparently had the ear and favour of the Emperor, though Eirn was not convinced she had half as much influence as she might have liked to imply. And Nox... Nox was someone Eirn had made a note never to cross, for multiple reasons.

'It's not that,' he replied, though - his nerves, apparently, were for an entirely different reason. 'It's simply-' he started, again - and paused, mid thought.

Eirn didn't reply to that - let the thought hang for a long moment, waiting for her Captain to speak his mind. It had taken her what had felt at the time like years to impress upon him that he didn't need to ask her permission to do so, and even now he still fell into old habits.

'Are you... certain this is a wise idea?' he managed, eventually - studying her reaction, all the while.

'Carrying the Seeds on board?' Eirn wasn't convinced it was a wise idea, no - but, until she had some demonstrable proof of their effects, hadn't been able to talk Acina into an alternative - one that didn't involve putting her crew at risk.

'I meant... pursuing the Dread Masters.' he managed, a little awkwardly - his expression one mostly of concern.

_Oh._

She dropped her gaze, at that; looked away, biting back the impulse to reply with _of course i am, everything will be fine_. For one thing, she knew he would never believe her - not after the past year, not after her hung over confession, not after twelve months of nightmares and broken sleep. For another... his love and loyalty were beyond question (even if a part of her still sometimes wondered _why_ ).

'No,' she replied, after a long moment, 'I'm not.' She'd gone a long time hoping never to encounter them again; until the Republic's most recent round of slandering the Emperor, she'd almost started to believe she could. Belsavis had put paid to that hope, though - as had this particular serendipity. She'd wondered more than once just how much Acina knew - how much the _Hand_ knew - and wished there was some way to find out without risking tipping her hand.

'But.' she added, after another long and awkward moment. But, she was the Wrath, exerciser of the Emperor's will, whether she liked it or not. But, this didn't mean that they would face the Masters, necessarily, and perhaps some other fool could be conned into doing that. But, her life was one long string of bad decisions after another, and this was just the latest.

Malavai, to his credit, just waited patiently for her answer.

'They made a... prophecy, I suppose,' she managed, slowly, 'that we'd meet again. If... that must happen,' she continued - and she despised the idea it might, for an endless number of reasons, 'I would rather it be on my own terms.'

Her Captain hardly seemed convinced - it was in his expression, never mind his aura. He studied her, as she spoke - as she pulled these words out, one by one. 'I see,' he replied, eventually. He didn't sound very convinced - and neither was she, in truth.

'If there's anything I can do to be of assistance...' he added, trailing off - leaving that thought unfinished.

That made her smile faintly, though, despite everything that was bearing down on her.

'Be here,' she replied, stepping a little closer - slipping her arms around his waist, tossing his beloved formality out the window. 'Be you.'

That made him chuckle a little, at least - and he pulled her closer, before planting a kiss on her forehead and nuzzling her hair, gently. 'That,' he murmured, 'I can manage.'

-

Eirnhaya had a new nightly ritual, and she hated it.

She'd lock herself in the fresher - alone, of course - and look at herself in the mirror. Sigh. Grit her teeth. Count to ten. Sigh again. Pull out that box of medication that Malavai had given her.

Look at it. Read the label, read the _warning, may cause drowsiness_ printed across one edge, snort at the warning. Look back at the mirror. Think about getting her hair cut. Think about growing it back out. Think about the argument with her mother.

Look back to the medication. Stuff it back to its hiding place, unopened. Feel guilty. Pull it back out. Feel pathetic. Stuff it back in. Pace. Realise how much time she was taking. Wonder if Malavai had realised she wasn't taking it. Try to tell herself that of course he hadn't noticed. Ignore the feeling deep down that he must have known, he wasn't _stupid_. Wonder if he was insulted. Wish she didn't worry him. Wish she didn't have anything to worry him _with_. Wish she didn't care so much about his opinion. Wish she found it easier to not _care_ , period.

Double check the medication was back in its hiding place. Look back in the mirror. Tell herself that perhaps tonight would be different. Fail to believe this. 

Count to ten. Try not to scream.

-

Taris was every inch the toxic swamp it had been when she'd left it; there weren't many planets Eirn would cheerfully have glassed from space (and done a better job than the last attempt), but Taris was up there. Even Korriban and Quesh were less uninhabitable; for one thing, neither of them had rakghouls - or the kind of Republic settler insane enough to try and share breathing space with the same. Spite was a powerful motivator, though, and Eirn had quickly drawn the conclusion that it was the primary motivation of the Republic's efforts here during their last visit to this particular hellhole.

'Do we _really_ have to come back here?' Vette wasn't the least enthusiastic person about this mission, but she was - as always \- the most vocal about it.

'For that, you're babysitting the ship,' Eirn replied curtly - ignoring Vette's bored whine. 'You can assist Twovee with routine maintenance while we're gone.'

This just got her a further unhappy noise from the Twi'lek - though no more verbal protest.

'Regardless of the state of the planet,' Eirn continued, ' _Or_ its occupants, we have a mission, here.'

It was like all the worst parts of being an apprentice again.

-

Finding the dig site wasn't difficult, at least; Acina's intelligence was accurate, which Eirn wasn't sure if she was more relieved or annoyed by. That _their_ servants had chosen the site of an ancient Jedi temple as the burial ground was a delicious twist of irony that Eirn thoroughly approved of, though it wasn't difficult to tell that Jaesa felt differently. She was smart enough to keep her expression under control - but Eirn could still pick up her apprentice's displeased irritation, and she made a note to work with Jaesa more on control of her emotions.

Her attention was quickly redirected, though, to the site itself - to the changes that the Seed had apparently wrought on Taris. More than anything, it reminded Eirn of a festering, infected wound. This wasn't just the Force at work; wasn't passion, wasn't hatred, wasn't even fear. This was more like the Dark Heart that had been hidden in the darkest depths of Voss - a twisted warping of what-should-have-been, with abnormal, unnatural growths oozing up out of the ground, smothering trees and ruins alike, pulsating faintly in time with a beat that Eirn didn't want to think to closely about. Even the... _liquid_ about the swamp had changed; it wasn't water, wasn't even the radioactive muck that floated around the old Tarisian power plants. It was more like oil - more like _blood_ , thick and clotted and congealed, leaking from those twisted growths and choking anything it rested on. It was black, and slick, and glistened, and was every inch as unnatural as the Seeds themselves.

To top it all off, there were rakghouls around - not that this came as much surprise, given that this was Taris - but not any ordinary rakghouls. They'd been warped by the Seed's corruption, too - swollen and twisted, their bodies sprouting those same growths that had forced their way skywards from the ground. The worst part, though, was how they _glowed_ \- whatever power the Seeds had tapped into feeding into them, their eyes shining across the fetid swamp as red beacons - as warning signs.

'The Seed did all this?' Jaesa, at least, hadn't lost her tongue, even as she failed entirely to hide her disgust.

'It seems that way,' Eirn replied, warily. It had occurred to her that Acina hadn't told her very much at all about what these things could do - what they were _known_ to be able to do, or - for that matter - how long they'd even been gone.

'<If it strengthens them, we welcome this test. We hunger for a worthy fight.>' Broonmark was itching to kill something, and had never been known to be picky.

'Alright,' Eirn said, choosing to ignore that comment - and trying to at least _appear_ on top of the task at hand, 'Let's get this over with. Sooner we're done, sooner we can get off this rock.'

That, at least, did not get any argument.

-

The seeker droid that Acina had given Eirn had a woefully small scanner range, and between that and the size of the grounds they had to cover... a slow, methodical search was the only reasonable path to take, but it was one that took its time. Work was made slower by the rakghouls which patrolled the corrupted grounds, and the fact that the Seed's influence was quickly confirmed to be more than simply cosmetic. The rakghouls had been... enhanced, almost - given a strength and ferocity above and beyond their already twisted kin. Eirn ordered the bodies burned - a loss to Imperial science, perhaps, but the last thing Eirn wanted was to attract more Tarisian predators.

('Do you think that it's- deliberate?' Jaesa murmured - not addressing anyone in particular.

'It's almost an improvement,' Pierce replied, half to himself. 'Least you can see these ones coming.')

Things did not improve much as the day wore on; as the sun rose in the sky and the swamp heated up, the smell just became worse and the rakghouls just became more persistent. Another change from their unaffected kin; Eirn was fairly certain that rakghouls tended to emerge more under the cover of darkness, an observation that Pierce backed up. This, though, was why she' d brought backup - Broonmark, who cheerfully threw himself into the fray, the Taalz relishing battle in a way that worried Eirn at times. Pierce, whom she was certain would rather have been demolishing the Republic's remaining infrastructure, but for now had settled for these twisted ghouls. Jaesa, whose aptitude for Sith philosophy was more than made up for by her skill with a blade.

(Malavai, who fretted over the lot of them like a mother hen - as out of place here in his uniform was Jaesa was in her robes, despite Eirn's attempts to get the both of them to wear armour in the field)

She almost didn't believe the droid's declaration of success when she heard it - early in the afternoon, as the sun was starting to disappear back behind the ruined city's structures, casting long shadows as it did so. It wasn't much longer before it had zeroed in on the Seed's location - buried at the base of one of the pulsating, twisted growths that curled its way up and around the ruins of the Jedi enclave. 

Seeing the Seed in person, though, was different to looking at an image of it - or a holo of one, a theoretical construct that Acina had displayed on her desk. This- _thing_ was hideously real, caked in the gunge and slime it had surrounded itself with - that it had warped the swamp surrounding it into, through a mixture of Sith alchemy, Imperial science, and Dread treachery. 

It hummed, as the droid held it suspended in the air; as Eirn checked and double checked the procedure for deactivating it, careful not to touch it as she examined it - acutely aware of the cold, sickly aura that leeched into the air around it. The droid lowered it into the containment vessel far more delicately and precisely than she could have managed; something clicked into place, and the whole thing folded in on itself automatically, the vessel sealing itself with an audible _hiss_. The containment vessel was barely larger than the Seed itself - for ease of storage, presumably, but that didn't fill Eirn with confidence on the matter of its containment abilities. 

'That's it?' Jaesa was a mixture of cautious and underwhelmed; they all were, even if she was the only one who spoke up.

_One down. Too many left to go._

'That's it,' Eirn replied - holding the crate awkwardly for a moment, before handing it off to Broonmark - the Taalz resenting being used as a packhorse, but his larger frame meant he would, at the very least, manhandle it less awkwardly than Eirn. 

'Unless anyone has any objections,' Eirn added, 'I'd like to get back to the ship. Preferably before nightfall.'

-

The ship, as it always was at the end of a mission, was a hive of activity - buzzing with the sort of energy that only the promise of escape from a hated environment could rouse; arguments over who got the fresher first (Broonmark, who had not wasted any time in depositing the Seed's case and stalking off to the crew fresher, leaving a trail of swampy, furry footprints along the way), who was being seen in the medbay first, where the ship droid had gone and whose turn it was to make fresh caf.

Vette had apparently occupied herself by taking the opportunity to paint her toenails on the dejarik table - her cosmetics bag was still there, and her boots were dumped under the table - but she hadn't wasted in any time in abandoning that venture on their return, instantly nosing around the Seed's case - and pulling a face at the smell Broonmark's footprints had left behind.

'Oh, hey. Is this...?' Vette started, picking up case, and starting to turn it over.

' _Do not open that_.' Eirn plucked it out of Vette's hands, before the Twi'lek could do something they'd all regret. She had half a mind to contact Acina and demand the location of somewhere - _anywhere_ \- she could deposit it that wasn't her responsibility. 'I take it everything was quiet?'

'I was just looking,' Vette grumbled. 'And, yeah. Didn't even get a call from Darth Barbie. You all stink, by the way. What'd you do, roll around in a dead Bantha?'

' _Rakghouls_ ,' Jaesa replied, grabbing the Twi'lek from behind and making her squeal, ' _which glow in the dark_.'

'Very funny, Jae. Go shower, geez...' Vette grumbled, making a show of holding her nose in disgust.

(Eirnhaya left them to it; not in the mood for childish antics, but a little relieved, in turn, that her crew's morale was not being dragged down with hers)

-

Her Holonet alerts had updated themselves, while they were gone; something about unrest in Hutt space, dismissed as irrelevant and subsequently ignored. She was still poring over her datapad nearly an hour later; leaning against a stack of crates in the cargo bay, half distracted reading updates on the war, half unenthusiastically composing a message to her mother. 

'My lord?'

Hearing Malavai speak didn't come as much of a surprise; she'd been peripherally aware of his activities, and knew that he would come to find her eventually; she'd also been planning to move before that happened, and had once again been caught- if not off guard, then at the very least, at rest.

'Captain,' she just replied, absent-mindedly - locking the datapad, before looking back up at him. He hadn't changed, yet (neither had she) - had been busy, since their return (unlike her).

'Medical examinations are complete. Well... except for Broonmark,' he managed, grimacing a little - the Taalz generally refused to be attended to unless in a life threatening condition, and Malavai had never seemed to work out if he wanted to risk his own life in pestering Broonmark the way he did the rest of the crew.

'And yourself, of course,' he added, approaching her - closing some of the distance between them, though not all of it.

'I'm fine,' she replied, automatically - a few scrapes that had been treated in the field, some bruises that she was ignoring for now. Certainly nothing that warranted concern.

'You're certain?' He studied her, for a long moment; she returned the look, trying to ferret out what it was he wanted from her.

'I'm certain,' she replied, nodding - standing, stretching as she did so and hissing involuntarily as sprain she had underestimated made its objections known.

'Alright,' she added, sighing - ignoring his knowing chuckle, 'You've got me.' 

'I'll be in the medbay when you're finished, my lord.' He turned to leave, at that - didn't impose any longer than he had to, and she wasn't sure if she was grateful or not.

Eirn nodded, absent-mindedly, as he left - her attention immediately wandering back to the Seed, and to its containment - which sat nestled in its packing crate, muted and, according to everything she'd been told, inactive. She was still not convinced of this; still not convinced of many things, but this was one of many questions she would have to leave unanswered.

At the very least, for now.


	8. Enervation

Sleep was rare, and pleasant sleep was rarer still; even on those nights that she managed it, Eirnhaya found her bed to be endlessly uncomfortable. This, though - (here, and now, and here-and-now were not the usual there-and-when, even as that thought bubbled away into nothing) - this was different, was warm and soft and inviting and enveloping, and for several long moments Eirnhaya was happy to sink into it. It was only when she tried to breathe and found she couldn't that she realised something was wrong - that her eyes snapped open and she found herself sinking into Taris's rotten, corrupted, swamp.

It took a long moment before she moved - a long moment before she _could_ move, the sucking weight of the rotten swampwater pulling her under - swallowing her, smothering her. When she finally _could_ move, it was like pulling through treacle - not just because of the slick, dark corrupted swampwater but because of the way it tugged at her skin as she reached for the surface, struggling to breathe. Breaking the surface was like stumbling naked into a blizzard - cold in a way that cut right to the bone. She didn't understand why, either - confusion bubbling up through her mind in a slow, lazy fashion - at least until she looked down. Her skin lay on the surface of the rotten, corrupted waters - bobbing gently as they sloshed around her, deep red against the slick, oily black. It was liberating and horrifying all at once, as the last of her crimson skin fell away to reveal grey knotted muscle underneath that pulsed with unbound strength and energy. She wavered, as she stood - looked back up at the sky and saw the sunlight filtering through the treetops of Taris, and winced as she was almost blinded by the light.

The light faded, though - and the dream with it, bubbling into nothing more than the memory of faint unease that stayed with her until waking - that nagged at her, fragile fragments of it surfacing for split seconds in her waking moments before being swallowed up again by the maw of her memory, leaving only uncertainty and dread in their wake.

-

Tatooine was not, as a general rule, a popular destination. It was the sort of place one ended up as a punishment - or where one hid oneself when fleeing fates otherwise considered worth than death. Her then-small crew's general opinion of it the last time they'd visited had been low, and not simply because of the demands that Baras kept dumping on them.

Eirnhaya, though, had found herself with a grudging admiration of the place - of its wild and desolate beauty. It was a harsh and unforgiving planet - much like Korriban, or the wilder corners of Ziost, even if it was the heat that killed you here, rather than the cold. It was not a planet on which one could impose one's own order; many had tried and all, as far as Eirn could tell, had failed. Those that adapted to it, though, thrived.

There was probably something un-Sith about that sentiment; the notion that there were things that could not be tamed, and that they should be admired for this. To Eirnhaya, though, it captured the essence of what it was to _be_ Sith; doggedly, determinedly itself, despite the desires of all its would-be conquerors.

This was not an opinion shared by her crew, however - who were, during the mission briefing, less enthused about this trip than they had been to Taris. 

'The coordinates provided by Darth Acina place the burial site out in the Dune Sea, past the furthest Imperial outposts. We'll have to avoid working through the heat of the day, as I'd rather not have anyone coming down with heat stroke.' 

'Unlike last time, you mean,' Vette added, not missing a beat.

Jaesa perked up at the hint of gossip. 'Did I miss something?'

Vette started to open her mouth - then caught the sour look that Eirn was giving her, and closed it. 'Soo... about those creepy seedy things...'

'For that, Vette, you're on shovel duty,' Eirn said, more than a little sternly - ignoring the Twi'lek's whine. 'Jaesa and Captain Quinn will also be accompanying us. Lieutenant,' she added, glancing at Pierce, 'you will have the bridge.'

Eirn trusted Broonmark with many things, but her ship was not one of them, and she doubted the Taalz would fare well in Tatooine's heat.

'Nothin' on that rock worth blowin' up anyway,' Pierce muttered - not pleased, apparently, with the thought of babysitting the ship. Eirn didn't entirely blame him - but didn't want the ship unsupervised, either.

'Unless anyone has any more complaints,' Eirn added, 'I'd like to get this done.'

-

One opportunity that the enforced break afforded her was the indulgence of a hobby formed as an apprentice, and which - despite the fact it was so very un-Imperial - she'd never seen fit to try and break.

Like most Sith, Eirnhaya had not ventured out of Imperial space as a child; departing for Korriban had been the first time she'd even left Ziost. She'd grown up in Korriban's shadow, though, and nothing there had been truly alien - and nor had Kaas, for that matter. The accents and climates had been different, but the fashion, the culture, the food - they were all the same.

Balmorra, though - and Alderaan, and Tatooine, and Voss - they were, once you ventured beyond the spots that the Empire had paved over and planted its flags on, foreign climes. As much as it might never have been a life she'd have chosen for herself, Eirn had relished the chance to explore the galaxy for herself - to see it through more than just broadcasts on the Holonet.

Food was a large part of that; someone wiser than her had once observed that one could tell a lot about a culture by its culinary habits, and Eirn was inclined to agree. Alderaan's nobility, like all nobility, consumed only the rarest and most costly foodstuffs; Voss cuisine was equal parts simple, exotic, and highly ritualised. Tatooine's native dishes, true to form, tended to be dry and hot and something of an acquired taste.

Mos Anek's cantina wasn't up to much, if she was honest. Even calling it a cantina was a charitable stretch, but it was the closest outpost to the burial site's coordinates - Republic-aligned settlements excluded. It was somewhere to eat, though - to avoid the heat of the day, to take a little time to try and unwind. 

(As much as anything, it was time to spend with her crew; Eirn was acutely aware of how far away she'd been holding them, and she actually missed the kind of camaraderie they'd had before her life had begun collapsing in on itself. Going backwards was never an option - and for that, she was in truth glad - but moving forward was always far more difficult and painful than twee retellings made it seem)

Malavai, forever endearingly conservative, stuck to the parts of the menu he could pronounce (and would likely have stuck to ration bars, were it not for the sake of his ego); Jaesa, always game for something new, overestimated her ability to handle spices \- much to Vette's amusement. Eirn was certain that they were far from anonymous, even here, but it was nice to pretend - just for a little while.

'Hey, hold still. I gotta take a holo of this.' Vette was deriving an inhumane amount of pleasure from Jaesa's misadventures.

Jaesa, from across the table, glared at her between heaping spoonfuls of sour cream on her meal in an attempt to render it palatable. 'It's not funny,' she muttered, sourly - adding, with a glance to Eirn, 'It's not even that hot, compared to yours...'

'I am Sith,' Eirn just replied, as though that was any kind of helpful response.

'I'm pretty sure Sith can't actually taste,' Vette helpfully stage-whispered, after Jaesa had stared blankly at her Master for a long moment. 'Specially not Eir,' she added, about to elaborate further when she noticed that Malavai was glaring at her.

'What?' Vette added, her face the very picture of wounded innocence.

'Now, Vette,' Eirn just replied, 'That's not true. You know I've never voluntarily consumed an Imperial ration bar.'

'Making someone eat one of those should be a war crime,' Vette replied, pulling a face.

'Even Jedi food is better than those things,' Jaesa agreed, apparently grateful she was no longer the butt of the conversation.

'That's 'cause Jedi food is actually _food_ ,' Vette replied - adding a further ' _what_?' at the glare Malavai was still giving her.

(Eirn just chuckled to herself; immersed herself in the distraction, enjoying it for all she could)

-

Enforced breaks in the work also meant an overnight stay planetside - meant lying awake in a strange bed, her lover curled protectively around her as he slept. She'd have preferred her own bed, but Mos Ila was a good hour or two away by shuttle - a journey made prohibitive by the short windows they had to work in. Besides which, it wouldn't have helped her sleep any better. The only advantage her ship brought was privacy - the ability to stalk its halls and be watched only by a fearful droid. 

(Broonmark, unhappy at the length of time they were spending planetside, had apparently stalked off on a nocturnal hunt; Pierce had not seen fit to stop him, and Eirn found it difficult to criticise either of them when she learned of this)

The comparative silence of planetside residences didn't help - especially Mos Anek, a tiny outpost on the edges of the Dune Sea. No engines, no air filtration, no speeders \- just the silence of the desert, insulated by thick stone walls. It was deeply unsettling - one more reason to lie awake among a thousand others.

(She listened to Malavai's breathing; faint, even against the silence of the desert, but there - a constant presence, reassuring in its steadiness and terrifying in the way she had come to rely on it)

-

_the sensation of drowning. the smell of kolto. the sound of water hitting dry rock._

-

Tatooine answered one question that Eirn didn't want to have asked; whatever the content of those oily slicks was, it wasn't water.

They were present and correct around the Seed's burial site in the Dune Sea, every inch as foul and rotten as the ones on Taris. They did seem... thicker, somehow, as though what water content there was had evaporated off, as was the fate of any surface water on this forsaken world. The stench was somehow worse, in the desert heat, than it had been on Taris - it reminded Eirn of a corpse that had been left to rot in the sun, bloating and marinating in its own juices.

' _Gross_.' Vette had found a long pole in the shuttle's cargo, and stolen it for her own use - was poking the fetid pools, trying to dredge up anything inside them - trying to see how deep they went (not very, at least at the edges of the burial sites), trying to get some reaction from the twisted growths. She was half bored, and half on edge; a feeling that was not unique to her, either.

'Careful, Vette.' Eirn didn't know nearly as much as she might like to about how the corruption these things produced spread; whether the fluid that gathered around them had any affect on that which touched it, or whether it was purely a byproduct of the twisted growths.

'I'm always careful,' Vette replied, prodding a blister at the base of one of the growths with her pole, and grimacing as it shifted under the touch. It burst, after a moment of pressure - fresh slime dripping out of it, along with a fresh waft of that same stench. 'Oh! _Gross_!'

Eirn just sighed irritably. 'Jaesa,' she said, glancing from the droid controls to her apprentice, 'Keep an eye on Vette, please. If she seems to be turning, I want to know immediately.'

'Er,' Jaesa just started, glancing between the two of them, not sure if Eirn was serious - trying to get a read on her Master, who kept her motives entirely to herself.

' _Urgh_ ,' Vette just huffed - smacking one of the larger growths with her pole in frustration, and making a further disgusted face and noise at the wet smacking sound it made. ' _Gross_.'

-

_Peace is a lie_ had never seemed as true as in the dead of night.

As a younger woman - a younger _Sith_ \- Eirn had always supposed that line was meant to be metaphorical. She'd found her moments of peace - on opening night as the final curtain fell, at the conclusion of a heated battle, in the afterglow of orgasm - and it hadn't escaped her notice that all of them were the fruits of passion. Here and now, though, she understood peace differently; a fleeting, illusory thing that shattered if you pressed on it too much, and that reliance on it would only end up leaving you stranded in the ugly miasma that was the galaxy at large, adrift and alone and utterly without recourse.

The Seeds of Rage were yet to start warping her ship, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about having them on board. She had was sat cross-legged in her cargo hold, looking at the crates they had - two, one dug up from the depths of a Taris swamp, and the other from a dusty corner of Tatooine's dune seas. Both were deactivated, according to all the instructions that Acina had given her, but Eirn wouldn't have put it past Acina to write her and her crew off as expendable - Wrath or no.

She wasn't alone, either - not for long, even if her company wasn't as accustomed to insomnia as she was becoming.

'Hello, Jaesa,' Eirn said, slightly absentmindedly - not turning to look at her apprentice, too tired to focus her gaze anywhere but the middle distance behind the Seed's containers.

Jaesa had pulled a robe over whatever passed for her nightclothes, but had made no other effort to dress - unlike Eirn, who was wearing the sort of loose vest and pants that accompanied a physical training session. Indeed, that had been the original plan \- before a mixture of dread and fatigue had gotten the better of her.

'Master,' Jaesa murmured - a tired, deferential greeting. Jaesa had, to her credit, done well at mastering the art of clouding her emotions - but Eirn could still pick up the ripple of nervousness that went through her apprentice. 'I... wasn't expecting to see anyone else awake.'

Eirn hadn't exactly expected to see Jaesa up and about, either; the girl generally kept a fairly normal sleep schedule. Then again, compared to Eirnhaya, even the droid had a regular sleep schedule.

Eirn just glanced over to Jaesa - not moving from where she was sat. 'You can't sleep?'

'Broonmark snores,' Jaesa replied, sighing a little before taking a seat on an upturned ammunition crate. ' _Really_ loudly.'

Broonmark also usually made his nest in the cargo hold; he was not the most social of creatures at the best of times. The Seeds, though, had unsettled the Taalz immensely, and since he'd been forbidden from camping in the engine room, he'd moved himself into the regular crew quarters. Something about the thought of the Taalz snoring through his odd little snout made Eirn smile - giggle, stupidly, much to her apprentice's dismay.

'Don't laugh! It's not funny!' Jaesa protested. 'Nobody else seems to care. I'm pretty sure Pierce could sleep through a bomb going off. And Vette _definitely_ can.'

'Have you tried earplugs?' Eirn managed, stuffing her inappropriate giggles back down for long enough to speak. It was ridiculous, and she found her smile impossible to repress. 

Jaesa just made an exasperated noise to that, and Eirn's giggles bubbled back up as a result.

'You're enjoying this,' Jaesa said, shooting Eirn an accusatory glare.

'I am Sith,' Eirn replied, not missing a beat. 'Taking joy in the suffering of others is what we do.'

'Such cruelty,' Jaesa replied, huffing again, but her heart was no longer in the act. Her attention wandered to the holding crates the Seeds were in - the same ones holding much of Eirn's attention. 'Do you... really think that they could still be active?'

'I don't know,' Eirn replied, after a long moment. 'I'd rather not find out the hard way,' she added, slightly distantly.

She looked at Jaesa - actually properly _looked_ at her, for the first time in a long time, and realised (re-realised?) just how close in age they were. It had been easy to overlook, while she'd been hunting the Jedi - and easy to forget, in the chaos since. Taking on an apprentice so early... well, it wasn't unheard of, but most of Eirn's motivation at the time had been concerned with saving face - with Jaesa as much as with Baras. 

Jaesa, though, just squirmed a little uncomfortably - oblivious to Eirn's train of thought and uncomfortable with the Sith's long, tired stare.

'I haven't felt anything from them,' Jaesa said, breaking the silence - looking back over at the crates. 'Not after they've been... deactivated.'

'I haven't, either,' Eirn replied, her own gaze going back to the crates, before sighing. 'I just...'

'You're worried.' Jaesa replied, finishing that sentence. 

Eirn winced at the accusation. 'Something like that,' she replied, distantly. 

She was afraid, for herself as much as for her crew. The state of the Dread Guard had long since become the least of her worries; the creatures that stalked their burial sites had become a more frequent concern. Rakghouls and womp rats weren't quite on a par with humans - or even Sith - but Eirn knew that sentience was not always much of a protection against the way that the Force could warp a living creature. Doing just that was what the Seeds had been designed for, after all; Eirn hardly felt it unreasonable she was concerned they'd be fulfilling their primary design.

'Did you... mean what you said about Vette?' Jaesa added, after a long moment - a mixture of wary nervousness bubbling up from somewhere within her. 'About her- _turning_ -?' Jaesa prompted, at Eirn's blank look.

It took Eirn a further moment to work out what Jaesa meant; it had been an offhand comment, more than anything intended to try and focus the Twi'lek as they worked. 

_So this is what's been keeping her awake_.

'We don't know how these things work, Jaesa. If what Darth Acina said is true, then the only person who _does_ was murdered by the Republic. Vette's in no more danger than the rest of us,' Eirn added, sighing - if anything, she and Jaesa were probably the most vulnerable. 'But if you are able to pick anything up - from _anyone_...'

It was a grim thought \- a grim task, but such was the nature of dealing with dark side artefacts. A heavy weight to place on the girl, perhaps, but no worse than the load Eirn had to bear.

'I... see,' Jaesa replied, slightly distantly. 

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time - Eirn lapsing into her fatigued inability to hold coherent conversation, and Jaesa apparently retreating a little into herself.

'If you're truly having trouble sleeping,' Eirn mused, eventually, 'There's always the medical bay.'

'You mean... taking something?' Jaesa replied, taken aback - even if she misguessed Eirn's meaning entirely.

'I meant the bed,' Eirn replied, distantly. 'Though if you're really desperate...' she added - only half kidding, and stuffing the flash of guilt that threatened to break through her mental shielding somewhere that she wouldn't have to deal with it - somewhere she hoped Jaesa hadn't picked it up.

'I think I'll take my chances with the snoring,' Jaesa replied, sighing. If she'd realised Eirn had relevant secrets to hide, she said nothing - gave no indication that Eirn could sense. Eirn, though, had not forgotten the talents Jaesa nursed that had drawn Darth Baras's attention to begin with.

'Good night, Master,' Jaesa added - standing to leave, and yawning as she did so.

Eirn's initial reply was a small 'hm' - a faint and distant acknowledgement of her apprentice's farewell.

'Goodnight,' she added, after a long moment - murmured, half to herself at first - and then entirely to herself, as Jaesa had already left.

-

Malavai was still asleep when Eirn returned to their quarters, for which she was grateful. She hated the thought that her insomnia disturbed his sleep, if only because of the attention she knew such things would bring - the questions, the unspoken accusations. He meant well by it all, but that just made it all the more frustrating - she wasn't a child, or an invalid. Other Sith would tear her to pieces if they knew how weak she'd allowed herself to become - if they had even the smallest inkling of how fragile she felt, and she was forever torn between relief her crew had little interest in Sith politicking, and worry that this somehow just made her all the more vulnerable.

She looked at her reflection in the fresher mirror as she brushed her teeth, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she was kidding herself - setting herself up for an ever greater fall, the longer she worked to put off the inevitable final moments of death and failure. A morbid train of thought, perhaps, but one that kept chasing around her tired mind, especially when it was early o'clock in the morning.

Her gaze kept drifting to her hiding place - the one that wasn't very hidden at all, if she was truthful, though as polite fictions went it was one she was fond of maintaining. The conversation she'd had with Jaesa kept replaying itself; the promises Malavai had made her, and her own rank hypocrisy when it came to adequate rest. Her hands shook a little as she opened the package; scanned the instructions for what felt like the thousandth time, and extracted one of the bright yellow pills.

_Fuck it._

For a long moment after she swallowed it down, she wondered if she'd made a mistake - or if anything would even come of it, if she wasn't working herself up into a fret over nothing. The mirror, as ever, had no answers - just its usual judgemental edicts on her fatigue and disarray.

When she stepped out of the fresher, it was as quietly as she could - acutely aware, all the while, of Malavai asleep in bed. It was simple enough to silently shed what little clothing she had on, and climb gingerly into bed, doing her best not to disturb her Captain. She was out of luck there, though - wincing as she felt him stir a little, apparently woken by- well, _something_ that she'd done.

'Eihn?' he mumbled sleepily - squinting at her in the dark, 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' she replied, quietly - wishing he hadn't woken (that she hadn't woken him), if only because he'd rouse himself making a fuss she didn't want, and- 'Go back to sleep.'

'You sure-?' he started, beginning to move - cut short when she planted a kiss on his mouth, effectively silencing any further protest.

'I'm sure,' she replied, curling up next to him; looping an arm around him, and only relaxing when he returned the gesture. 

He didn't argue, at the very least; just pulled her closer, before settling back down. She followed suit, relishing the feeling on skin on skin - the sensation of _them_ , and she closed her eyes, resting her head next to his and attempting to lose herself in that feeling.

He fell asleep quickly, after that; she, for once, was not far behind.

-

_Hey, is Her Sithyness there?_

_She's asleep, Vette. What do you want?_

-

_the feeling of being smothered. the smell of blood. the taste of fire._

-

Eirn realised she was awake some time after she had been - staring blankly across her quarters, the dark middle distance illuminated only by what faint Imperial mood lighting remained when the main lights were out. Total darkness was disorientating, even for those adept in the Force - besides which, Eirn had never found a way to totally disable them, short of powering down the ship entirely.

After a long moment, she scrounged around and found the energy to fumble for a light switch; winced at the sudden illumination, squinted at the chronometer, and groaned to herself at what it read. She'd been asleep far longer than she wanted to; _far_ longer than was normal (why hadn't Malavai woken her?), and they actually had a _mission_ , and where was everyone and what, for that matter, was she going to _say_ -

-

The fresher mirror did not provide any answers. It told her that she was tired; that she was an utter disgrace to her heritage, and that one of the lightbulbs was going to need replacing in the near future, but none of these things were revelations.

-

Malavai was the only other person on board the ship - _that_ much she could tell without venturing outside. They were docked somewhere, then \- Hoth, presumably. That had been their destination; stop number three on Darth Acina's scavenger hunt, and not the one Eirn had been feeling most uneasy over. 

It was also the planet that made the least sense to Eirn; the one she kept half expecting to be a trap, an error, a lie. Taris and Tatooine both had settlers, even if they were few and far between and arguably already quite mad. Hoth, on the other hand, was host to nothing but ice, wampas, and the wrecks of half a generation of warships. There was a Chiss outpost somewhere under the ice, and the intelligence report Eirn had skimmed had mentioned something about Ortolans, but that was it as far as major settlements went on Hoth. Why _their_ followers had therefore opted to plant one of the Seeds here was a mystery; Acina had opined that the Dread Host was by definition irrational, but offered no further insight as to why _they_ cared about this particular hole.

(It was an academic argument, perhaps, but that didn't stop the irrationality of it annoying her - nagging at her, along with the hundred thousand other things that nagged at her, distracting her from the tasks at hand.)

Malavai was also in the conference room, alone - working on something on a datapad, and Eirn didn't let that stop her entering - or taking the seat next to him, sitting down with a thud and, while attempting to stifle a yawn and not entirely succeeding, greeting him with a simple, 'Mal,' that was cut off after the first syllable by a truncated yawn.

She hated the way he looked at her sometimes - particularly at times like now. He saw how wounded she was - how fragile, how weak - and worse still, she let him see it, letting her pretences crumble when they were alone. Nothing made her feel inadequate quite as much as his desire to protect her; she was Sith, and yet he always seemed to be the one who was in control.

'Good morning, my lord,' he just replied - offering her a smile. 'I trust you slept well?'

'Too much,' Eirn complained - grumbled, adding, 'Why didn't you wake me?'

'...I didn't want to,' he confessed - adding, 'With your... troubles, recently, I thought it best to let you catch up on your sleep.'

Eirn was too tired to argue with that, and just groaned unhappily, before resting her head on his shoulder. The armouring of his uniform made it a slightly uncomfortable place to rest, but Eirn did not let that deter her - or the awkward, uncertain tension that settled over him.

'Eihn,' he added, quietly, 'If you are still tired, perhaps you should go back to bed.'

Eirn didn't reply to that - not verbally, anyway, simply making a noncommittal _hm_ noise. She did sit up again after a long moment, though, if only because the uncertain awkwardness that had settled over Malavai was not letting up - quite the opposite, and she was acutely aware of how delicate things between them were.

'I don't think that would help,' she murmured sleepily. 'I've already slept too much today.'

He was studying her again, she realised - looking at her the way he did when he was puzzling her out, categorising her faults and weaknesses, tallying her injuries and assessing how best to treat them.

( _or exploit them_ , her paranoia added, unhelpfully.)

'Well,' he replied, slightly warily, 'Drowsiness is- not an uncommon side effect. Considering your... condition.'

So he'd found her hiding place - or had some other method. Perhaps he'd simply realised that her getting most of a full night's sleep only had one likely cause - not that this made her feel much better.

'You could have warned me,' she grumbled, shooting him a half-heatedly dark look. 

Malavai looked as though he was about to protest that he had - and Eirn remembered, at that, the way she'd zoned out while he'd been talking to her. 'My apologies, my lord,' he simply said, though - a good natured, gently concerned apology. 'Though I must recommend you continue to rest.'

'Noted,' Eirn replied, quietly; wishing she'd thought to grab a caf before joining him here, and barely suppressing a yawn.

'So, Captain,' she added, doing her best to ignore the look that yawn drew, 'Where are my crew?'

'Planetside,' he replied, not missing a beat - sliding gratefully into professional mode. 'I felt it prudent that, given the urgency of Darth Acina's briefing, we not lose time. The lieutenant has taken command of the operation, with instruction to check in on the hour. The next is due in... twenty minutes.'

'I see,' Eirn mused - trying to imagine how Pierce was finding wrangling Broonmark. She trusted the Taalz to follow _her_ commands, but was less certain about how he'd respond to the rest of her crew. 'And you volunteered to stay up here in the warm?'

'It seemed unwise to leave you unsupervised on the ship. Given the nature of your... problems,' he replied, a little defensively, 'I wanted to be on hand, in case anything was amiss.'

'I was teasing, Malavai,' Eirn just replied, smiling a little - planting a kiss on his cheek before he could object. 'I... appreciate your concern,' she added - admitted. 'It's very sweet.' It also drove her to distraction, but she was certain that mentioning that would only make things worse again.

He was stumped at that - flushed, at the unexpected gesture, before scrambling for thread of the previous conversation. 'I, ah,' he started, 'well. As I said, the Lieutenant is due to report in soon. If you want to depart for the surface, we can, though- I don't recommend it, my lord.'

She was about to say something in response to that when another yawn forced its way out, even after she tried to stuff if back down - late, far too late. 

'I'll fetch us some caf, my love. You stay here,' Malavai added, setting his datapad to one side - smiling indulgently, a gesture which didn't make it sit any easier with Eirn.

He was standing before she could protest - and, apparently anticipating it, silencing it by planting a small kiss on her forehead, his unexpected informality surprising her into submission. He was gone before she could muster anything other than surprised irritation - that train of thought immediately derailed by another yawn.

_Fuck. I hate feeling like this_.

Eirn just sighed, burying her face in her hands - before making herself stand and stretch, trying to wake up her body in the hope her mind might take the hint. She even allowed herself a loud yawn, in Malavai's absence - not that she felt much better for it. The idea bubbled up from somewhere that perhaps what she needed was to do more than just stretch - but to _leave_ , to go down to the planet's surface and do- _something_. 

Hoth might not have been the most hospitable of worlds, but it was a change of scenery - it wasn't sitting on the ship slowly going mad. That thought just made her think of the Seeds, though - of the fleeting glimpses of her shattered dreams that stuck around in her tired memory, and made her wince unpleasantly. 

Eirn was saved from further introspection by an alert from the comm unit on the table - apparently Malavai had routed calls into here while he was working. She answered it without thinking, grateful for the distraction. It was Vette - at least, it seemed to be Vette. The signal was a little patchy - the Twi'lek's image skipped and jumped, as though something was interfering with it. Eirn half remembered something about Hoth's atmosphere interfering with communications - it was part of the reason there were so many wrecks on its surface.

'Vette. Is everything alright?'

'Not really, my lord,' Vette replied, not missing a beat - the interference affecting her voice, as well as her image. That she had used the honourific at all immediately concerned Eirn - Vette resorted to Imperial standards of courtesy only in the direst of circumstances.

'Vette? What's wrong?' Eirn replied, sitting up a little more in her seat - focusing properly on the conversation.

'- hear you? I-'

Vette cut out completely, at that - the signal lost entirely, swallowed up by Hoth's atmosphere. 

'Shit,' Eirn muttered. This was not good.

She tried to reconnect the call, and came up with nothing - and a second time, with the same result. Even moving to the ship's main holoterminal made no difference- she still got the same frustrating lack of signal. 

'My lord?'

She started, at that \- at Malavai, who had returned from the galley, caf in hand and concern etched into his expression.

'Vette attempted to make contact while you were gone,' Eirn replied, taking one of the offered mugs gratefully. 'She was cut off, and I haven't been able to raise her.'

'Communications interferences are frequent on Hoth. The planet's atmospheric conditions make it particularly difficult to contact the surface reliably.'

Malavai was already offering facts and opinions - remaining calm, even as Eirn could pick up the concern beneath his surface. He moved to the console too, trying for himself to reconnect the call and coming up with nothing.

'It's- possible that there is temporary interference...' he started to add - sounding unconvinced even as he said it.

'Possibly,' Eirn conceded. It was likely that everything was fine. Wasn't it? Her crew were capable and competent; that's why she trusted them (and there was that ridiculous sentiment again). 'But I'd still rather know for myself.'

-

Hoth's orbital station was, considering the remoteness and general popularity of the planet, positively heaving - which only served to compound Eirn's growing sense of foreboding. 

Both of them had dressed appropriately for the surface weather - she in a fleeced, hooded jacket over her armour, in lieu of her normal longcoat, and Malavai in his cold weather uniform, glancing irritably around the station lounge. There was a sizeable Chiss delegation - not entirely a surprise, given that the blue-skinned aliens made up a sizeable portion of the Imperial presence here - as well miscellaneous Imperial military personnel, all of whom shot Eirn looks that were varying levels of curious and wary when they thought she wasn't looking.

Like most planets without a proper spaceport, most of the access to Hoth's surface was made via shuttle. Eirn had never acquainted herself with the intricacies of planetary transports; as a child, she'd never needed to, and as a Sith, her lightsaber tended to be all the information and authorisation she needed. 

'Lord Wrath.' The shuttle attendant was at least up to date on his visiting dignitaries. 'My most fervent apologies, my Lord, but I'm afraid that travel to Hoth's surface is currently impossible. Dorn Base is unapproachable due to inclement weather conditions, and we have no alternative authorised landing sites.'

The attendant clearly expected her to disagree; he looked at her the same way so many other Imperials did, not seeing _her_ but instead the lessons they'd learned that Sith were uniformly quick to anger and quicker to violence, even with loyal servants of the Empire. There were times she fulfilled parts of that particular prophecy, but this was not one of them; she was irritated, yes, but through no fault of the attendant's. It wasn't as though the storm was news, after all - even if he was confirming something she'd only suspected.

'I see,' she just replied - that explained why there were so many people here, not to mention the shuttles on standy. 'How soon is travel to the surface resuming?'

The attendant glanced nervously between Eirn and Malavai, the latter of whom gave away no clue as to his lord's disposition. He was better at keeping his emotions under control than she was; a side effect, she supposed, of the cards their lives had dealt them.

'I- unfortunately I am not aware of this, my lord. I'm awaiting confirmation from Dorn-'

He paused abruptly, his words brought to a rapid halt by an irritated sigh from Eirn. 

'I want to be alerted the _moment_ you are cleared for transport to the surface. Understand?'

'Of course, my lord.' A mixture of relief and trepidation bubbled through the man as he bowed, but Eirn had nothing further to add to this conversation; it was, as far as she was concerned, over.

-

She couldn't face returning to the ship, even knowing there was nothing they could do here but wait until Hoth's tantrum settled down. Pacing irritably around the station wouldn't be any more productive than pacing irritably around the ship, but at least it was a change of scenery.

The station's lounge (and _that_ was a generous word) was... functional, but minimal, like everything to do with this planet. After spending several minutes glaring at Hoth, failing entirely to will it to behave, Eirn just found herself a quiet corner and a bench, shrugging off her jacket and, after taking a seat, attempting again to make contact with her crew.

(Malavai stood at attention - guarding her, almost, as though there was anything here to guard against other than complacency and tedium)

'Sit down,' she murmured, only half paying attention to her surroundings. Her holo was still refusing to connect; she wasn't certain she was surprised, even if it still unsettled her. 'This is probably going to take a while.'

-

Malavai fetched them hot, spiced tea from a vendor attempting to take advantage of the adverse weather; Eirn wasn't certain about it until she took a sip, and thought about the café at her father's university for the first time in what felt like years.

They talked; an awkward, shallow conversation about the planet below, its storms and whims and value as a military target. He studied her; she felt it, even as he tried to hide it, and she crushed her yawns before they manifested into anything he could hold against her - anything that others on this station might report back to their own masters.

She continued to try her holo, all the while - not expecting anything, but trying all the same. It was something to do with her hands - something to keep her mind distracted. It took what felt at the time like hours, but it did eventually connect - a weak, staticky connection, but a connection all the same.

' _Vette!_ '

Vette had a bandage on one cheek, what looked like bruises on her lekku, and, because this was Vette, an irrepressible grin.

'Hey, Eir. Good to see you again. How's Captain Malcontent?'

'Standing right here,' Malavai replied frostily; Vette, on the holo, made a show of being surprised.

'Vette,' Eirn said, interrupting this argument before it could begin, 'What's going on down there?'

'Not much,' the Twi'lek admitted, sighing - 'We got caught out in the storm. And Jae- well, it's kind of a long story...'

-

It was Pierce who ended up debriefing her, naturally - back on board the ship, as she nursed a hot, strong caf, and as he nursed what she could only assume was mostly his ego. To say the mission had not gone well was an understatement, though it was due in no part to failures on the part of her crew. Acina's coordinates had, as always, been accurate - locating the site of the corruption had not been the difficult part. 

The way Pierce told it, there'd been an epic battle in a blizzard, a twisted wampa taking issue with the presence at the site - a storm blowing in at exactly the wrong moment, and everything that possibly could go wrong, doing so. They'd come out on top, but not without taking a few hits themselves. Jaesa in particular had overestimated herself, and ended up with a fractured arm and broken ribs, along with a laundry list of smaller injuries, as a result. She was currently the medical bay, Malavai fussing over her like a mother hen; the medics at Dorn had tried to insist she remain with them overnight, but Eirn wanted her crew - including her apprentice - somewhere she could keep an eye on them. 

(Eirn wasn't certain how much of this she believed, though it did explain the string of expletives Broonmark had been hooting to himself - never mind the bandages Vette was refusing to leave in place, or the way Pierce winced when he thought nobody else was looking)

'And the Seed?' It wasn't a question that Eirn suspected Pierce wanted pressing on - but she had to ask it, all the same.

Pierce glanced shiftily around the room, at that - as though he expected the Taalz to be listening in behind a chair. 'Still there, m'lord,' Pierce managed, unhappily. He did not like reporting failure; he did not like _failure_. 

Eirn couldn't help but blame herself, in truth - she'd been too busy sleeping, when she should have been there. Her presence might not have stopped Hoth's weather from rolling in, but she should have been there, all the same.

'I see,' Eirn replied, distantly; taking a sip of her caf as she mulled things over. 'In that case,' she added, 'You should get some rest, Lieutenant. I understand it'll be another seven hours before sunrise. I'll be joining you,' she added, 'But I still need you at your best.'

Or as close to _best_ as circumstances would allow. Eirn was acutely aware that this hunt was taking a toll of its own on her crew, and rather hoped it was one they could wrap up sooner rather than later.

Pierce, though, just made a small gesture of acknowledgement - was grateful that he could escape this conversation. Not that she really blamed him.

_Dismissed._

-

The fresher mirror was of the opinion that she was, for all her excess sleep, no more well-rested, and Eirn was inclined to agree with it. The best of intentions did not always result in the best of outcomes, and Eirn felt no guilt whatsoever over leaving her hiding place undisturbed.

-

The Seed's burial site still had a thick layer of fresh snow on it when Eirn and the remnants of her crew returned - the next day, both local time and Imperial Standard Time. The oily slicks that gathered at in the crooks and crannies of the growths were almost frozen in the cold - almost, but not quite, chunks of ice bobbing in- _whatever_ that rotten liquid was. The snow had melted a little, where it met the not-quite-water - was slick, almost slush, on the surface of the pulsating growths, and Eirn grimaced at further proof that they were a twisted kind of _alive_.

(Vette, at the very least, was refraining from poking and prodding at them - kept her distance from the things, muttering a string of unpleasant words any time the wind picked up and taking potshots at the smaller animals that kept sniffing around)

The droid's mapping at least had retained the sites her crew had already checked; there was no need for her to duplicate their work. Broonmark, acting as lookout and watchdog, continued to be equal parts disgusted by the corruption and thrilled by the challenge the twisted wildlife brought. Eirn just kept a wary eye on him all the while - unable to shake the paranoid unease that always settled over her in these places.

(The Seed, when it was eventually located, was buried under one of the deeper half-frozen slicks - and came out covered in that slime and slush. Eirn was not sad to see it sealed away, even as it meant dripping that rotten sludge into the container - sealed for transport, as much as she wasn't certain just how long that seal was supposed to hold)

-

Jaesa, on their eventual return, was out of kolto and up and about - her arm still in a sling, encased in bandages (Vette threatened to poke it; Jaesa threatened to end her, and Eirn chuckled in a way that got her a concerned glance from both of them). She was falling over herself to try and help - to make up for her failures on the surface, and Eirn dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

'Rest, Jaesa. Heal. Your training will be picking up again after our next stop.'

Eirn had been wondering to herself for a while if she'd been going to easy on the girl - if she hadn't been pushing Jaesa as much as she should, and this incident was proof that Eirn had been falling short. Her failures as a Sith were not just her own, any more - though this particular failure was one that could still be rectified.

'I- yes, Master,' Jaesa replied, starting to object, before thinking better of it. 

-

_Three down. Emperor-knows-how-many left._

Eirnhaya studied herself for a long time in the fresher mirror that evening - that night, avoiding sleep and all that came with it. She couldn't afford to not be involved in this mission - Hoth had proven that. Even if her presence wouldn't have changed the storm blowing in, it still would have avoided Jaesa's injuries.

She was jolted out of her train of thought by a knock on the fresher door - Malavai (who else could it be?), wanting to use it himself (wanting to check up on her, even if she needed him to deny it).

'Eihn?'

Eirn just sighed to herself, at that - stepped away from the mirror, unlocking the fresher door and, without saying anything, draped herself on her Captain, looping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder before closing her eyes. He'd been about to say something - to _do_ something, and she could pick up surprise and concern in his emotions without even trying. He didn't say anything, though - just wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close.

'Eihn,' he murmured, again, 'is everything- are you alright?'

A question for the ages, and Eirn felt a small smile tug at her lips. 'Hm,' she just replied - as alright as she could be, under the circumstances.

They just stood there, for a long moment; her leaning against him, him holding her close. 

'Get into bed, Eihn. I'll be with you shortly,' he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair - not for a moment pushing her away.

'Yes, sir,' she murmured, after a long moment - pressing a kiss to his neck, before pulling away just enough to reach up to plant one on his lips as well. He returned that one, too - smiled, at what she'd said as much as what she'd done, and slightly disappointed when she pulled away. 

_Corellia awaits._


	9. Insurrection

Officially, Corellia was Republic territory.

Darth Decimus, the Dark Council member in charge of its governance, was long murdered by some Jedi or another whose name Eirnhaya had discarded as unimportant; Republic flags flew at its spaceports, and the position for its Senator was, according to all intelligence reports, currently a hotly-fought popularity contest. The Republic's version of democracy had once more been foisted onto its people, whether they wanted it or not - whether it ever delivered on any of its lofty promises, or simply created an endless bickering quagmire.

(intelligence, small i; Eirn had gotten as far as asking ' _what do you mean, we don't have an Intelligence agency?_ ' before realising this was not a piece of information she really wanted, and wasted the next half hour pretending to be interested in Malavai's reply. the short version was, as far as she could tell, 'sith politicking', which, while unsurprising, did not do much to inspire confidence in the Empire - or, for that matter, _Sith_ )

'Getting down to the surface undetected won't be easy. The Republic hasn't reclaimed total control of the system, but their patrols are frequent. Fortunately for us, I've already obtained a set of clearance codes and patrol routes that should allow us to land on the planet undetected.'

Malavai was, as ever, a font of useful information - even if this speech (his briefing, given as they were still in hyperspace - Eirn nursing her morning caf, Vette picking at her fingernails) was one far too familiar for both their comforts. He'd come clean, of a sort, but not without putting on the show that Baras had required of him - not without coming far too close to crossing a line from which there was no return, and their mutual inability to quite meet the other's gaze was proof enough that this particular wound had not fully healed.

'From our allies on the surface?' Eirn managed - forced out, groping wildly for anything that wasn't unpleasant reminiscence.

'General Kolya,' Malavai replied, nodding, and Eirn could pick up a kind of silent gratitude at the redirection. 'Another former Corellian government official, who has pledged allegiance to the Empire. We've also been granted clearance to use her landing site and use of a transport shuttle. By my calculations, it's approximately two hour's shuttle flight to the site provided by Darth Acina.'

Unofficially, Corellia was still a warzone, still half-ruined from the battles that had raged across its surface less than a year ago. The Republic had suffered in the war, and was struggling to keep order in its reconquered territories; Corellia was home to insurgencies that were both Imperial-sponsored and simple home-grown militias. More than once, Eirn had been approached by some Moff or General wanting her to lead some pointless charge here; more than twice, she'd turned them down, as she had little interest in leading land campaigns - never mind experience.

'So as long as nobody looks out the window, we're fine.' Vette got herself a sour look from Malavai for that remark - but Eirn had to admit that the Twi'lek wasn't wrong. The chances of running into Republic resistance in this place was far too high for her comfort.

'There's a Jedi enclave on Corellia,' Jaesa volunteered. 'The Green Jedi. Master Karr didn't think much of them,' she added thoughtfully, 'But... they're still Jedi.'

Eirn faintly remembered something like that from the last time they'd been on this forsaken planet. The Jedi - and indeed the war at large - had not been her primary concern, and she'd avoided being sucked into the fighting where she could. Baras had been a far more pressing issue, at least for her; the only Jedi she'd had to concern herself with were those on her former Master's payroll. Still, they had imposed itself on her purpose anyway - interfered and interrupted, as was the wont of Jedi.

'Sooo... what if the Jedi already found it?' Vette was asking all the awkward questions today.

_Then we break into the enclave and retrieve it. Easy._

The Jedi involving themselves were just another layer of complication that Eirn didn't want to have to deal with, even as she knew that they were probably inevitable. Jedi had a particular knack for interfering in Sith business, after all; it was, according to some, the entire reason their Order existed to begin with. Eirn remembered, at that, Acina's statement that the creator of the Seeds had been murdered by a Jedi - and wondered, for a moment, if this was somehow connected to the current problem.

'It's still stolen Imperial property,' Eirn replied, 'Regardless of who currently has it.'

Truly, that was a non-answer worthy of a Sith - or a politician. Vette didn't seem very impressed, but it was the best she was going to get.

'Jaesa,' Eirn added, changing the subject entirely, 'I want you to remain on the ship until your arm is fully healed. Captain Quinn will have the bridge,' she continued, pretending not to see the questioning looks that got her. 'The rest of you will be joining me planetside. I want you all ready to be deploy as soon as we're landed. Any objections?'

-

The fires that Eirn distinctly remembered burning last time they were on Corellia were, when they landed, long since snuffed out. Unsurprising, considering it'd been the better part of a year since the battles here. What did surprise Eirn was that the Republic had been content to let so much of Corellia lie in ruins; considering the lengths they'd taken to reoccupy the planet, she'd have expected rebuilding what they'd destroyed in the process to have been further up the to-do list.

Still, the sheer scale of Corellia's rebuilding needs likely didn't help. The whole planet was urbanised - a concept Eirn still struggled to wrap her mind around, in truth. There were parks, yes - tightly managed green spaces, and presumably there were coasts and ports and oceans, but there was nothing _wild_ left on its surface. Every available space had been paved over - every natural resource stripped, every monster tamed. For all the Jedi jibes about how Sith were _unnatural_ , coating an entire planet in permacrete and calling it progress seemed to be a uniquely Republic exercise.

The Seed, according to Acina's data, had been buried in the remains of an old zoo - in one of the areas that the Republic's rebuilding efforts had thus far left untouched. More than just that, though, it was currently (unofficially) a warzone - part of the territory Corellia's homegrown, Imperial-nurtured insurgency was making valiant attempts to claim as its own. This made a disturbing amount of sense to Eirnhaya; an unoccupied area of an otherwise paved-over planet, a ready supply of the emotions and energies that warfare dredged up, and a relatively low chance of someone managing to uproot it before it had time to establish itself.

Kolya and her men weren't much use in getting to the site - they were engaged elsewhere, and the former zoo was a low priority target. Kolya had been more concerned about her own efforts - had tried, despite Eirnhaya's previous refusal to be drawn back into this conflict, to recruit her for the insurgency, even temporarily. Eirn, though, past caring about Corellia's politics; she'd done her best to avoid the war the last time she was here, and it had served her well. Kolya was disappointed, and a little snide - at least until she investigated the weapons crates Malavai had arranged as a peace offering.

(Eirn may not have had much time for the war on Corellia herself, but saw the advantage that needling at the Republic brought; besides which, she rather suspected that if she hadn't made some token contribution then Pierce - still sore, she suspected, at the Bastion's fall - would have insisted on somehow involving himself, a development she did not have the time or patience for)

The site of the Seed's corruption was not hard to find. It had once been the rancor enclosure - another fact that struck Eirn as hideously logical - and was every inch as foul and twisted as the other sites had been. Corellia had no swamps, no deserts, and, at least in this place, no snow - just a sprawling urban jungle. Still, the Seed had found a way to take root, and sprouted the same unnatural growths it had at the other sites - climbing up and around the ruined architecture, a festering unlife in the midst of a half-dead battlefield.

They weren't the only ones around, either; the zoo's exhibits had never been entirely rounded up, in the wake of Imperial defeat on Corellia, and had reclaimed the zoo's grounds in a way that Eirn had to admit she approved of. She'd never been an out-of-doors sort - quite the opposite, in fact, but the unnaturalness of Corellia's complete urbanisation both fascinated and repulsed her. The thought that this imported wildlife was taking these abandoned corners back for themselves struck her as poetically karmic, somehow.

'So. Where do we start?' Vette apparently had a steady supply of uncomfortable questions, and no compunction against sharing them.

The rancor enclosure was spacious - and had been well protected, once upon a time. The high walls and hi-tech fencing had both fallen to repeated bombings, though they still provided a little protection to the burial site - a protective pot in which the Seed could sprout, and Eirn just winced at that thought. Searching the whole enclosure would take time that they didn't have, for numerous reasons.

'I've got an idea,' Eirn murmured, though - searching the whole enclosure would take time, yes, but if she could narrow it down...

Eirn took a seat on a large, flattish chunk of fallen permacrete - positioning herself as comfortably as she could, given the circumstances, and closed her eyes. Vette started to form some question - Eirn could _feel_ it (Vette wasn't the only one nursing wary curiosity - Pierce was, too, even as he was keep an eye on the surroundings. Broonmark, even through the Force, was a mystery wrapped up in a a swirling aura of hostility). She had the sense to remain quiet, though - even found herself a perch to scout out the surrounding area, as Eirn tried to immerse herself the Force.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel your heart beat. Once, twice, three times. Feel the stillness between beats. Exist in it, for a moment. For two, three, four moments. Feel the beat echo._

The rancor enclosure was saturated with power - with the lingering aftertastes of a thousand noisy, curious crowds; of the hunger and anger and perennial boredom of the captive beasts, of hate and desperation and fear. Vintage fear, from generations of children staring in awe at roaring beasts; stale fear, one scar amongst millions from the war that had raged here months ago; fresh fear, left in bright, minty smears from other recent intruders to this place.

They were all distractions, though - weren't what Eirn was interested in, or trying to find. It was the ambient power that she couldn't quite get a handle on; didn't quite recognise, other than as something she recoiled from as utterly alien. It was simultaneously omnipresent and effervescent - everywhere and nowhere, all at once, existing a step to the left of everything she usually navigated, tangible only for brief moments before flitting almost out of view.

She latched onto it, though - grasped at it, the thick oily slick that coated everything it touched with its stench and grimaced at the involuntary shudder that went through her. She held onto it, though - grasped it, as delicately as she could and as firmly as she dared. Eirn could feel it push, too - try to latch onto _her_ , in turn, and it took all of her concentration to push it back. It really _was_ alive - not necessarily natural, not necessarily sentient - but definitely living, even as it was an abomination. She stretched out further - slowly, cautiously, tracing back along the tendril she had found in search of the writhing mass that had spawned it.

Tracking down the Seed's exact position was beyond her abilities, but it was impossible to miss the concentration of dark energies around it - the hate and fear and anger that it created and fed on. It pulsed, like a heartbeat - like the pulse of the growths it spawned, living and unalive all at once.

'Eight o'clock,' she said, her voice sounding distant to her ears. 'Approximately twenty meters.'

The rough direction of the rancor's den; the thought bubbled up through her mind that there might have been further resistance, but everything in that direction was, now that she was aware of it, drowned out by the miasma the Seed had produced. If there _were_ creatures lurking there- well, they'd find out, soon enough. They were prepared for resistance; she'd brought Pierce and Broonmark with her for a reason.

Pierce's acknowledgement was equally distant; she sensed him move immediately, even as he was full of wary doubt. He trusted her - she knew that much, even without prying - but was wary in the way that all soldiers were of the mysteries of the Force.

(It was surprising, she reflected, that the Jedi had not found this place sooner; had not attempted to uproot it themselves, or at the very least, enact some kind of security)

_i see you, arrogant sith_

A whisper, right into her mind - that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and made a sudden nausea rise that had nothing to do with the ambient stench. Eirn snapped out of her meditation as her stomach clenched - as she involuntarily doubled over before throwing up, fear manifesting itself as pain and bile. Her eyes watered - at the smell, at the pain, at the action - and she grimaced, shuddering and swallowing back what she could and, after a long moment, spitting out the rest. After another long moment, she moved to wipe the mess from her face with the sleeve of her longcoat - grimacing to herself at the stench.

There was something else, too - a prickling at the back of her neck, a presence that she hadn't noticed before. It had been there all along, she realised - but it was only when she tried to immerse herself in the Force she'd been able to pick it up. It had been hiding - probably _observing_ her, she realised unpleasantly. That wasn't the worst of it, either; the presence that had been attempting to hide itself was Light, of a kind - the sort that burned, a flame that turned all its path to ashes.

 _Jedi_.

This confrontation was inevitable, and Eirn didn't want to drag it out any longer than she had to. Dealing with the Seed's corrupted beasts was bad enough, without dragging Jedi into the mix; one at a time, though, she felt more confident of handling. She stood, then - drew herself up to her full height, looking around the ruins for any sign of their fellow intruders and seeing, for now, nothing.

'I don't have time for games, Jedi. Show yourself.'

They were in what had once been an open air stand, where curious, fascinated tourists had gaped at captive rancors, held safely away from them by the best in containment technology. The containment was long failed, though - the walls crumbled, the forcefields shattered - and the Seed's corruption had begun to spread out of the rancor pit and into the surrounding structures. It was a wonderful place for an ambush, a fact even Eirn was acutely aware of - and, more than that, it was the Jedi's home turf.

For a long moment, there was no response; the Light she could sense through the Force flickered, like a flame in the wind - and then flared as the Jedi stopped hiding themselves, jumping down from a vantage point that he'd found in a shattered observation tower, landing with the grace and control that only command of the Force allowed.

It was a lone Jedi knight, wearing robes dyed a deep green colour - a statement of allegiance to his Order, presumably, though Eirn had no time to speculate on such things. He was male, and _\- green_ , in every possible sense of the word, ( _Mirialan_ , her brain supplied) - holding himself tall and proud and oozing the kind of self-righteous self-confidence she so loathed about Jedi. Eirn armed herself immediately, taking her saber hilt in her hand - but did not, for the moment, ignite it.

(there was another, with him - a boy, scrambling the long way down, not yet confident enough in his abilities to follow the older Jedi. An apprentice, presumably - a _padawan_ , she corrected, a flickering flame that flared in his Master's presence and wilted whenever he caught sight of Eirn)

' _Sith!_ I shouldn't be surprised to see you here,' the Knight called - glancing over Eirn and her crew with disdain. 'Come to inspect your handiwork?'

('Master,' his padawan babbled, 'shouldn't we call for backup...?')

Eirn couldn't help but snort at that. 'You think _I_ did this?'

'Of course you did,' the Jedi retorted. 'Why else would you be here?'

Myriad reasons, but Eirn didn't have the time for this. 'You wouldn't believe me if I said I just happened by the neighbourhood?'

'Your lies won't work on me, Sith,' he replied, drawing and lighting his own saber - an answer all by itself. Its blade, too, was green; as much a statement as Eirnhaya's purple one, though not one she had the understanding to read.

'Idiot,' Eirn muttered, lighting her own saber in response - adding, more audibly, 'I didn't come here to fight, Jedi.'

'No, Sith,' he replied, smiling unpleasantly. 'You came here to die.'

Her saber was up to deflect his first blow before he'd even finished speaking - his hostility was obvious, even without the Force, and Eirn was not the sort to take Jedi threats lying down. He didn't strike, though - not right away, which itself put her on edge.

'You do realise,' Eirn began, again, 'That you're outnumbered here?'

The Jedi, though, just chuckled. 'Your fear betrays you, Sith. This is your last chance to surrender.'

Eirn just snorted at that. It was bravado, but she kept the falseness of it buried - an automatic habit from a lifetime among Sith. 'The only fear I smell is your child's, Jedi. Tell me,' she added, 'Do all Jedi bring defenseless children to fight Sith? Or is this a Corellian specialty?'

('Uh,' Vette started, 'Eir....?'

'Not now,' Eirn hissed, without even thinking about it - all of her conscious focus on the Jedi in front of her. Something else was tugging at her, though - the Force, whispering a warning she couldn't afford to ignore)

The Jedi ignored her taunt, and instead took that moment of slight distraction as his cue - threw his saber, guiding it to her with the Force - hurling it at her, half as an attack and half as a distraction as he moved. Eirn just deflected it with hers, the plasma blades hissing for a moment as they clashed, and she didn't stop to let the Jedi gain ground - but charged him, leaping in for the attack. He was already moving, too, pulling his saber hilt to him with the Force - moving himself, rotating away from her trajectory and circling for Vette, who was scrambling for a different perch. Eirn pursued him, not letting up for a single moment - hardly noticing the way the ground shook, until the Force screamed another warning and she ducked and Eirn _felt_ the air she'd occupied become filled with several tonnes of angry, mutated, rancor.

The creature roared, deafeningly loud - its presence wrapped in that same corrupted miasma, its hide encrusted in rotten muck, its eyes wide and its breath foul. Eirn didn't have time to contemplate it, though, as it took a swipe at her, raking its claws through only air as she ducked back out of its path. The rancor stood between her and the Jedi - between her and her crew, too, even if its attention was focused, for now, on _her_.

'Can't even control your monster,' the Jedi taunted, before adding, 'Idiot Sith,' - pursuing her, not the rancor, ducking under the monster to press his own attack.

'It's not mine,' Eirn retorted, between swings - between blocks, his sudden aggression somewhere between unexpected and entirely predictable.

' _Lies_ ,' the Jedi hissed, pressing his attack - about the elaborate further when the Force screamed at them both to move.

Eirn ducked, rolling backwards, out of the way - just in time to see the rancor's fist smash the spot she'd been standing on. The Jedi had moved, too - ducked the other way, before moving around the rancor, still fixated on _her_. He was ignoring it entirely - treating it as an obstacle rather than an enemy, ducking around and under the creature, taking full advantage of the fact it seemed entirely fixated on _her_. It wasn't, though - and Eirn could only watch as the rancor plucked the Jedi up in one hand; as the Jedi screamed in surprise and rage and, when he realised what was happening, even fear.

The rancor lifted him up like a ragdoll, preparing to smash the struggling- squirming Jedi into the ground - and Eirn leapt to join him, ending up unsteadily on the rancor's arm - grabbing at the Jedi's robe for support and slashing at the rancor's arm with her saber. The rancor, though, swatted her away - sent her flying towards ground. She righted herself with the Force as she fell, landing smoothly on her feet before then slipping in the muck, the ground as much an enemy as the beast. The rancor, though, was focused on its prey - half-focused on its prey, and half swatting blindly at her crew. Pierce was taking the opportunity for potshots at the creature - firing sticky grenades that seemed to do nothing against the muck on its hide, while Broonmark was trying to close in from the rear.

'< _Hey! Ugly_! >' Eirn shouted - roared, screaming at the creature in High Sith, pouring all of her fear and anger into her voice with the Force. It was the latter that got the rancor's attention - made it roar in response, turning all of its attention onto her. The Jedi - still squirming, still gasping - was thrown at her like a ragdoll. She dodged him, though - ignored him, leaping at the rancor, saber held high, aiming for one of the creature's arms.

The rancor grabbed at her, though - crushing her in its grasp as it caught her midair, trapping one arm against her body and leaving her saber arm stuck awkwardly outside of its grasp. Eirn kicked uselessly at the air, struggling to breathe as the rancor crushed her in its fist - still attempted to swing at the rancor with her saber, and only succeeding in dropping it when the rancor crushed her further (when something _cracked_ inside of her - her eyes watering, her breath struggling to come). The creature snarled, at that - turned its attention somewhere else, abruptly dropping Eirn as it roared in pain.

Eirn hit the ground painfully, with another crack that she _felt_ as much as she heard, bouncing off a cluster of Dread growths before rolling into one of the rotten slicks. She lay there for a moment, stunned - trying to breathe, gasping for air and pausing every time pain jolted through her body. She wasn't even certain that time was passing until Vette appeared at her side, the Twi'lek scrambling around the battlefield to where the Sith had been thrown.

'Eir?!' Vette was on the verge of panic - scrambling for her stims and only succeeding in dropping them in the muck.

Eirn didn't manage a verbal response to that - not immediately. She just squinted up at Vette - struggled, for a long moment, to so much as breathe, never mind reply. Words were far too hard - required far too many moving parts, and Eirnhaya opted simply to try and breathe, instead. After a long and painful moment she sat, or tried to - got half way up when something made another audible _crack_ , accompanied a moment later by a stabbing pain as something that shouldn't have attempted to drive itself through her skin. Eirn gritted her teeth, hissing sharply - but couldn't afford to stop and repurposed the pain, using it to drive herself on.

She stood, slowly and clumsily and carefully and at least a little dizzily, waving Vette away all the same - went to ignite her saber, and realised it was gone. Her saber hand opened and closed several times, as she tried to process that thought - tried to work out what had happened, and realised she must have dropped it. The rancor letting out another roar pushed that thought out of her mind, though, and she looked up only to see the beast bearing down on her once more.

Instinct took over, and Eirn only had to reach out with a hand - to pull at her saber with her mind, and it flew to her grasp from where it had landed in the corrupted muck. She lit it without even thinking, before ducking under the beast and hitting it from behind - taking a swing at the corrupted rancor's legs, sinking her blade past the outer layer of corrupted muck and into the beast's flesh - adding _burnt meat_ to the list of unpleasant smells, and prompting another angry roar from the rancor. It turned to take a swing at her, and staggered - stumbled, as Eirn drew back her lightsaber - not cutting through its leg entirely but leaving a bloody, half-cauterised gash all the same. It took a swing at her with one arm that missed by far too close a margin as she pulled back - as it collapsed forward, and she took the opportunity to scramble onto its back - pushing through the way her body screamed.

The rancor objected to her presence on it - roared again, trying to shake her off and outright howling when Eirn drove her saber into its back, aiming for roughly where its spine might be. She'd missed it, apparently, the creature remaining upright - of a sort - howling in pain as it stumbled around, and then further as Eirn slipped - as her saber dragged through its flesh as she lost her footing and fell, landing gracelessly in the muck below. She slipped, stumbling backwards - tripped on a uneven growth and ended up sprawled in another painful heap.

The rancor had fallen as well, though - tumbled forwards, rather than back, losing its balance and momentum, stumbling forwards onto the Jedi - who had pulled himself up, and was taking his own swings at the creature with his saber. The beast was injured - hobbled and bleeding, but had only been driven into a further frenzy by its injuries - was swiping wildly at the Jedi, who was struggling to dodge and counter.

Eirn was distracted from the Jedi's woes by Vette reappearing at her side - by the Twi'lek helping her to her feet, by trying not to stagger and slip in the corrupted muck. When she turned her attention back to the Jedi and the beast, it was to see the latter taking a swing at the former - a colossal backhand which sent the Jedi sprawling to the ground, before preparing to pound the man with a raised fist. Eirn inhaled sharply, caught up in the instinct to scream at the Jedi to move - and instead ended up choking on the pain that spiked through her, blinded by it for long enough to only hear the crunch of bone and armour under the rancor's fist.

Eirn staggered, at that pain in her chest - blinked back the tears that threatened to water in her eyes, and tried to drag the pain into a weapon she could wield (was aware, dimly, of Vette, fussing - of the Twi'lek grabbing at her, trying to find somewhere to stick her with a stim - and Eirn pushed the girl away, equally aware that she couldn't afford to lose focus on the fight). Her own concern was for nothing, though - the beast had already collapsed beneath its own weight - the weight of its injuries, and the killing blow that Broonmark had apparently struck with his own wicked vibroblade.

The silence in the air was almost deafening, and it was only after a further long, silent moment that Eirn moved again - approached the rancor warily, before finally kicking it sharply. It gave no further reaction, though - had breathed its last, and not before time. Along with the wounds Eirn had inflicted on it, there were numerous burns from blaster fire - bleeding gouges from thermal grenades, as well as half-cauterised slashes from the Jedi's own lightsaber.

(Eirn slowly became aware, in that silence, of the strain in her chest as she breathed - of the way her heart was pounding, of the ache that pulsed in time with every beat)

'Sorry about that, m'lord,' Pierce managed, eventually. 'The... _thing_ was buried near its den. Think we got a bit too close,' he added, at Eirn's questioning look.

Eirn just made a dismissive gesture; the beast was dead, and they weren't, even if she could already tell Malavai was going to fuss over her like never before.

'<A worthy battle. The Sith clan once more proves itself stronger than Jedi.>' Broonmark, of course, had his own take on events.

Eirn just wanted nothing more than to collapse, and knew that if she did, then she'd just regret it. The damage her armour had suffered was digging into her body, and the damage her body had suffered was digging into her concentration. There was a faintly metallic scent at the back of her throat that did not bode well, but she had to put it to one side; they'd been on a tight schedule _before_ the Jedi had shown up. It would only be a matter of time before the alarm was raised - whether it was through their discovery, or the Jedi failing to check in with his enclave, or some other unpleasant turn of events.

Something was already nagging at her, though - some presence that boded ill, something that was trying to hide itself in the Force and failing quite miserably, and it didn't take Eirn long to realise what, and why. It was the padawan - of course it was, the child that the Jedi had brought to a battlefield. The kid didn't seem to have so much as a practice saber - couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old, if Eirn had to guess, though she was bad at estimating the ages of near-humans and this kid was as green as his Master had been. Child or not, though, a Jedi was a Jedi, and when he looked at Eirnhaya - when Eirn approached him, hiding the ginger movements she was having to make with a projected aura of power - a wave of pure, ignorant terror rolled off him the likes of which Eirn hadn't tasted in a long, long time.

'Don't,' the padawan stammered, sniffling - on the verge of tears, and Eirn doubted it had anything to do with the stench, 'Please, I don't...'

Eirn just gave the padawan a long, even stare - kept her saber out and lit, even as it was held to one side. Murdering children wasn't generally her style - even if they were Jedi children - but she was not above terrifying them.

'Please,' he whispered, his gaze flicking to his dead Master - to Eirn, to the rancor, to her crew, to the dead Jedi, to the living Sith.

'Who sent you?' Eirn's question was short, and to the point; words hurt. _Breathing_ hurt.

'I don't,' the boy started, still sniffling and trying not to - teetering on the verge of sobs.

'Hey. It's okay. We're not going to hurt you.' Vette was at the kid's side, trying to reassure him - adding, 'We're not going to hurt him, right?' as she glanced at Eirn - her statement half way between a question and a challenge.

Eirn didn't entirely appreciate Vette speaking for her, even if she was playing the good-Sith to Eirn's bad-Sith - even as that wasn't a role that Eirn appreciate being cast in, even by Jedi.

'Maybe,' Eirn replied, stonily; she didn't have the breath or energy for elaborating too much more than that, and was certain nothing she said would improve the padawan's temperament, regardless.

Vette was not exactly reassured at that, though - and neither was the padawan, who sniffled loudly, threatening to burst into fresh sobs with every passing moment.

Eirn just shifted her stance - an attempt to ease the way her battered armour was pressing on her bruised skin, and inhaled sharply as the pressure shifted from one unpleasantly sensitive nerve to another. The child was not reassured by this - by _anything_ she did, and Eirn was rapidly running out patience with this entire scenario.

'Who,' Eirn repeated, not appreciating having to, ' _sent_ you?'

'I- Master- Gend. He...' the boy started, before trailing off again, distracted by the warped rancor corpse - and the remains of his late, apparently lamented, Master.

Eirn didn't speak - didn't have the focus to do so, not if she wanted to maintain her upright position - but instead reached out with the Force, gripping the boy's jaw as if with her hands, and forcing him to face her. Throttling the kid would get her nowhere, but she had no compunction in forcing him to _focus_.

The boy took Eirn's action as meaning he was about to be throttled regardless; Vette shot her a dark look and a hissed _Eir!_ , while Pierce - who was watching this little drama unfold from afar - just chuckled darkly.

'Gend,' Eirn managed, through gritted teeth. 'Who is he?'

'I don't know,' the kid gulped, sniffling between words. 'He was- on Coruscant. He said that Sith were- burying things. Seeds. I don't,' he added, his sniffling just getting worse as Eirn released her grip on him, 'Master- Master Loren- was- who spoke to him. I don't know anything. Please...'

He still kept glancing between Eirn and the remains of the dead Jedi - this _Loren_ , presumably. After a long moment, Eirn moved - approached the Jedi's corpse, ever wary - both of him and his terrified padawan. When neither made any move, she squatted next to the dead man - biting back a hiss at the pain that stabbed through her as she did so.

(His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the sky; Eirn closed them, even as she muttered the word _idiot_ under her breath, again)

He had a personal datapad, naturally - tucked inside of his robes, its screen and casing cracked but its data, hopefully, salvageable. Eirn already had a solution for that in mind - and she took it, tucking it inside of her own longcoat before turning her attentions elsewhere.

She took his saber, too - and, after standing, shook it free of the muck it had dropped in. After a moment inspecting the hilt - feeling its weight in her hand, turning it in her grasp - she lit the blade, finding it in working order. It hummed as she moved it through the air - as she inspected the Jedi blade (fascinated, as she always was, by the imperfections in the beam that natural crystals always wrought), before finally deactivating it.

Jedi lightsabers were frequently taken as trophies by Sith, as well as the other way around; Eirn, though, had never had the kind of rivalry with a particular Jedi that she'd felt made it worth taking such a personal token of victory. Nomen Karr had been her Master's nemesis, not hers - besides which, she had Jaesa, whose power made her a greater threat and weapon than any lightsaber.

The padawan, at her action, almost hyperventilated - especially when she returned her attention to him. He seemed to expect her to strike him down - perhaps even with his own Master's saber, just to add insult to injury. Her approach did nothing to dissuade him from this; his fear flared, a brilliant spark almost as bright as the light that had burned in his late Master.

She didn't strike at him, though - instead, she reached out, offering the boy his Master's saber.

He didn't get it, not at first - looked up at her, not understanding what this Sith wanted from him. She could feel his doubt, mingled with the fear and sorrow that sloshed around inside of him - fear of her, fear of the rancor, fear of the corruption, fear of death.

'Take it.' Words hurt, but so did standing here being stared at by a terrified Jedi child. Eirn was acutely aware, too, that this was (officially) enemy territory; that Kolya was an (officially) unsanctioned insurrection, and that the longer they lingered, the more likely it was they would run into further complications.

The padawan still hesitated for a long moment - and when he did finally reach out (nervously - flinching as he touched the saber's hilt, as though he expected it to burn - as though he expected Eirn to strike at him, the way her crew seemed to expect her to in turn) it was a painfully slow movement.

'Tell... _Gend_ ,' Eirn said, enunciating every word as clearly as she could, 'to keep out of Sith business, or I will visit him next.'

Not that she expected this 'Gend' to listen - assuming he even got the message intact. If anything, this encounter would just mean more Jedi interference down the line, no matter what she said or did - the least she could do was try to appear to be the one in control.

The padawan didn't get it, though - stood there terrified and sniffling, clutching at his Master's saber and staring at Eirnhaya as though she'd been speaking at him in High Sith.

' _Go_ ,' she added, louder, 'Before I change my mind.'

It took the kid a further moment to register what she'd said - but when he finally did, he didn't waste any time in scrambling backwards (slipping in the muck - just for a moment, before steadying himself) before turning and finally sprinting as though he thought the Sith might give chase.

Eirnhaya, though, just watched the boy go - before turning her attention back to her crew, who in turn were all waiting on _her_.

'The Seed?'

Pierce had the case - was righting it, wiping off the muck that had clung to it during the encounter with the rancor. 'Got it, m'lord.'

She just nodded, though - and rather hoped that its containment hadn't suffered any damage in the fight.

'In that case,' she just said, though, 'We're leaving.'

-

Her throat didn't stop trying to close up until they were on the ship; her stomach didn't stop trying to heave until they were clear of the atmosphere, and even when they'd made the jump to hyperspace, her nerves still jangled.

(the words still echoed in her subconscious, their threat and meaning still nipping at her heels)

_i see you_

-

On their return to the ship, Eirn paused only to hand the datapad she'd taken to Vette, along with instructions to prise open its secrets; Vette had taken one look at it, and then at Eirn, and made her i-accept-no-responsibility-for-this face. She had assented, though, without much argument - and Eirn had, in lieu of facing any other of her crew, immediately ducked into her personal quarters. She ached; more than that, she _stank_ , and making herself some approximation of clean was more important, in that moment, than anything else.

Stripping off her armour was a slow and painful process, for several reasons - not least of which was the way her body ached and complained as she moved, her accumulated injuries making themselves more and more known. Her armour was visibly cracked, in places ; it would be weakened, even if repaired. Eirn just set it to one side; armour repair was one of Twovee's many uses, though she knew it would have to be replaced, eventually. She was just glad her armour had been the thing to crack, and not her body - not any more than the latter _had_ cracked, anyway.

Sith, like Jedi, could heal and sustain themselves through meditation and the Force; Eirn was not a healer by any stretch of the imagination, but even she had mastered the art of knitting her own body back together. It was necessary for simple survival, as Sith - Korriban was a treacherous environment, and not just because of the planet's own dangers. Her mind was too fractured to truly focus, though, of late; her meditations were as fruitless and broken as her sleep, and her body had suffered for it.

She was at least alone, though; Malavai was, following their jump to hyperspace, in the medical bay, dealing with complaints and injuries that weren't hers - through her design, rather than his. Eirn knew that if she let him, he'd have focused on her to the exclusion of all else, for numerous reasons - and while there were times she relished being the centre of attention, the moments when she felt as delicate as she currently did were not one of them.

Stepping into her shower to wash the sweat and muck from her skin didn't make her feel much better. Red skin didn't show bruises as easily as paler shades did, but she could still _feel_ them - when she traced the paths that the Force took through her body using her mind, when she traced the paths the water took over her body using her hands.

For a moment, Eirn thought she saw a scrap of red skin washing down the drain - for a split second, all she could think about was a memory of a dream that came back, unbidden, of her skin peeling away as she struggled to crawl out of a puddle of corrupted muck. She blinked, though, and the scrap of red was gone -leaving behind only the memory of the dream.

_Fucking hell._

Eirn just sighed, and closed her eyes; leant her forehead against the shower wall, her back to its head, and lost herself for a long moment in the feeling of warm water running down her back. It was comfortable and pleasant, in a way that even her bed wasn't; she could have slept like that, were it not for the fact she was almost upright.

(were it not for the fact that those words still tugged at the edges of her awareness; the _i see you_ that still whispered in the silent moments between everything else, and all the implications that flowed from them)

-

She was attempting, slowly, to dress, when Malavai entered their quarters, apparently in search of her - carrying his diagnostic scanner, and surrounded by an aura of worried concern.

'My lord! Sorry, I-' he started - pausing abruptly, half staring and half trying not to stare. Whatever he'd expected to see, it apparently hadn't been her in the slow process of putting on some clean clothing - though so far she'd only managed a sleeveless vest and a pair of soft underpants.

'Malavai,' Eirn just replied, after a moment; smiling a little, even if it was weakly.

His attention was immediately on the bruising that was blossoming on her skin; on the delicate way she held herself, on the way her movements were slow and deliberate and extremely ginger. Her near-nudity was, in this moment, not so much sexual as it was vulnerable - one reason among thousands she hadn't wanted him to see her like this.

'What happened?' he started, immediately descending into the protective concern she so loathed, 'You shouldn't have- are you alright?'

'Nothing serious,' she replied, automatically - nothing that wouldn't heal with time and meditation. There was no need to make a fuss-

'Eihn,' he interrupted - his tone becoming more serious as he fumbled with the diagnostic scanner, torn between his instincts and his training and the way Eirn had always made it abundantly clear she disliked being the centre of this sort of attention. 'Please...'

She sighed, and immediately wished she hadn't. 'There was a rancor,' she replied, 'infected by the Seed. And a Jedi,' she added - though that had been the least of her problems.

Eirn wondered, at that, about the amount of time she'd spent splashing around in the corrupted muck; wondered once again what it was that caused that corruption, and if she had more to worry about than mundane injury.

'You should have come straight to me,' Malavai was saying, though - oblivious to her train of thought, as he ran the scanner over her. 'Eihn,' he added, 'You need to be in kolto, not...'

'I don't-' she started to protest - cut short by a hiss of pain as something shifted inside of her in a way it almost certainly shouldn't have.

She hated kolto tanks; hated the enforced vulnerability, hated admission of weakness, hated the memory loss that the cocktail of sedatives and muscle relaxants that went alongside kolto baths entailed. It was a hatred bordering on fear she shared with most Sith, even if few would ever admit it; was why the art of knitting one's own body back together was so highly prized, and why scars and cybernetics were badges of honour rather than admissions of failure.

Malavai, though, began reciting the laundry list of injuries that the diagnostic scanner had turned up; Eirn did not speak medicalese, but between her pain and his growing worry, she felt safe in assuming there was a level of seriousness beyond what she was refusing to admit.

'Alright,' she murmured, leaning against him - closing her eyes, and wishing breathing didn't hurt so much. 'You've made your point.'

He just smiled indulgently, though - planted a kiss on her forehead, and looped an arm gingerly around her waist, before grimacing at the way she winced. 'I know how much you hate them, my love. You won't be in any longer than necessary, I assure you.'

He didn't know, not really, but Eirn appreciated the thought all the same. 'Promise?'

'I swear,' he replied, half playfully and half seriously, 'On my honour as an officer of the Imperial Army.'

If there was any one thing he valued, it was his honour as an officer, and Eirn grimaced a little at that thought. 'Fine,' she just murmured, more than a little reluctantly. 'For you.'

-

_teeth. small, sharp, metallic; nipping at her, tearing at her, razor-sharp - insistent, insatiable_

-

Eirn did not remember leaving the tank - or making her way to her quarters, before apparently passing out on her bed. She must have, though, because that was where she woke up - her muscles aching from lack of use, her mouth dry and her hair dried in stiff clumps where the kolto suspension had been left in it as she slept.

It took her a long moment to work out where she was, and a longer moment after that to remember why she was there. Eventually she scraped together the energy and coordination to fumble for a lightswitch - to wince at the illumination and squint at the chronometer and make a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and a profanity.

They were docked with Vaiken, according to the flimsi note she'd been left on the nightstand - refuelling and resupplying. Eirn didn't like that this meant she'd been out for longer than the trip back to Imperial space; didn't like that the Jedi would have had time to move while she was napping in kolto, or that _they_ too would have had more time to further _their_ plans. Worrying on these things was futile, but she did so anyway - before crumpling the flimsi into a ball and tossing it in the direction of the waste disposal unit.

She was on her own, for now - Malavai was elsewhere, though he'd clearly been the one to deposit her here, as she'd apparently been cuddling one of his uniform jackets while she slept. Eirn just cringed internally, at that - at the possibilities it raised as to her state and behaviour. The jacket, though, was deposited to be laundered, along with her own clothing - a loose vest, an equally loose pair of pants - which was uncomfortably stiff from the dried kolto suspension. With the clothing dealt with, she stepped into her private fresher - to take another hot shower, to inspect herself for lingering injury, to wash away the last remains of sleep and kolto.

-

Her only company aboard the ship was Vette - in the common area, taking up as much as the couch as the possibly could. The dejarik table was currently home to her cosmetics bag, as well as a precarious stack of datapads, while the Twi'lek was sprawled next to it - currently painting her fingernails and half listening to a popular music station on the holo. Eirn, on stepping out of her quarters, was half relieved that Vette was her only witness - and half disappointed that Malavai was nowhere to be found.

'Oh! Hey boss,' Vette threw Eirn a grin that spoke of the Twi'lek having enjoyed herself far too much with something she possibly shouldn't have. 'Captain Tightass should be back any time now. He said to tell you he had his holo when you woke up, but...'

'Vette,' Eirn just replied, smiling in a slightly bemused manner. 'I take it everything has been quiet?'

'Pretty much,' Vette replied, shrugging half to herself. 'I got your datapad open. Well, the Jedi's one. It's- uh, on the table,' she added, attempting gingerly to find a way to retrieve it without smudging her polish - or moving too much from the couch.

Eirn beat her to it, though - picking up the offending datapad, and idly glancing over its screen, which had apparently been afforded some amateur repairs. 'Did you take a look through it?'

'Er,' Vette replied, an admission both that she had and that she wasn't certain she should have. 'Not much?'

Eirn just raised her brow at that. 'Anything of interest?'

'Maybe?' Vette replied, shrugging a little. 'I mean, uh. Most of it seems like pretty boring Jedi stuff to me.'

Eirn just looked back to the datapad, beginning to scroll through what did indeed appear to be _boring Jedi stuff_ in the hope there might be something usefu-

'I see,' she mused. 'Thank you, Vette,' she added, slightly absent-mindedly. _Boring Jedi stuff_ was, as always, the least of her problems.

That just left one task, then.

-

'What is it, Wrath?'

To say that Darth Acina was not pleased that this conversation was taking place was an understatement; Eirn was fairly certain that the Councillor hadn't intended to speak with her personally until this mess was far closer to being resolved. Perhaps it was personal dislike; perhaps it was simply a busy schedule (perhaps, as was so often the way, it was somewhere between the two).

At least it hadn't been hard to track Acina down - or, once Eirn had argued her way through several well-intentioned secretaries, get the holo connection secured. (Now, getting Acina to agree to talk to her at all, on the other hand...)

'It would seem,' Eirn replied, 'That someone in your service has been passing information to the Jedi.'

'Impossible,' Acina replied, far too quickly. 'Nobody knows of your mission outside of my personal staff.'

'Then explain the Jedi who was waiting for me at the last dig site,' Eirn replied, more than a little dryly. 'For an impossibility, he was surprisingly well informed.'

Even if he'd drawn a few erroneous conclusions along the way - or simply decided to ignore the truth in favour of nurturing self-righteous hatred.

'And you believe the word of some Jedi? Wrath,' Acina scoffed, 'I really thought you were smarter than that.'

Eirn had expected Acina to say something like that - Jedi were notorious liars, especially when it concerned matters of the Sith. Had she been in Acina's position, she'd have wondered exactly the same thing - challenged herself in exactly the same way. This, however, was why she'd entered the conversation prepared.

'I also helped myself to his personal datapad,' Eirn added, tapping a few buttons on her console, 'The relevant contents of which I am forwarding to you now. These are communications he had with another Jedi on Coruscant who _claims_ ,' she finished, 'to have spies among your personnel.'

Acina's expression fell back to annoyed, at that - and then, after she'd had a moment to review the mail Eirn had sent her, settled into a sort of cold fury. 'I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Wrath.'

Eirn said nothing, to that - just gave Acina the very smallest of bows.

'You still have the Seeds retrieved thus far?' Acina added sharply.

Four of them, each in one of Acina's secure containers. The cargo bay hummed, faintly; she could feel it, a prickling at the back of her neck that promised nothing pleasant. Her ship was yet to begin to warp, but Eirn was not convinced this would continue to be the case.

'I do, Dark Lord,' she just replied, though.

Acina glanced to something out of sight, at that - tapped at what Eirn assumed must have been a datapad or terminal input. 'I'm sending you a secure transmission, Wrath. Arcanum's coordinates, along with a one-time docking authorisation. Bring the Seeds you've gathered to my personnel there, who will see them restored to their rightful place. After that,' Acina added, sighing, 'We can see about the rest.'

 _Arcanum. The Emperor's toybox_.

Eirn had to admit she felt a little giddy at the thought of getting to see Arcanum for herself, despite the circumstances. A few weeks ago she'd had no idea it even existed - more recently, she'd resented the fact its existence had been kept from her, despite the apparent _need-to-know_ clearance of her station.

'With respect, Dark Lord, are you sure?' Eirn just replied, though - powering on despite the immediate unpleasant change in Acina's expression at her challenge. 'Your people have already been compromised. If there's-'

'Arcanum's staff have already been _personally_ verified, Wrath,' Acina replied icily, cutting Eirn off mid sentence.. 'This Republic spy is not among them. I guarantee it.'

Eirn was not convinced of this - Acina's Sphere had already been demonstrated to be compromised, and Eirn quietly dreaded to think how many other leaks there might be. She didn't argue the point, though - Acina was angry enough as it was. Theoretically, Arcanum's security was not her problem; practically, as much as she wanted the Seeds off her ship, Eirn also didn't want the time she'd spent chasing them down to end up wasted - or worse, ending up benefiting _Them_. Arcanum had already been breached once, after all.

She didn't give any of these thoughts voice, though; Acina was in a foul enough mood as it was. Eirn just rather hoped that her concerns would be for nothing.

'Of course, Dark Lord,' she just replied, though. This would be a fruitless argument, at best. 'It's an honour to serve.'

Acina, though, had already cut the connection.


	10. Perfidition

It was an understatement to say that Eirnhaya was eager to get their call on Arcanum out of the way. 

She paced, irritably; alternately tried not to poke at the parts of herself that were still tender, and then poked them anyway to make sure they were still there. The pain was proof she was awake, not stuck in a lucid dream or hallucination; was proof she was _alive_ , for better or for worse.

('Yeah, but why do we gotta go _now_?' Vette at least had the sense to keep her complaining away from Eirn, even if it was overheard anyway.

'I'm... sure she has her reasons, V.' Jaesa wasn't thrilled - nobody was, but orders were orders.)

-

Eirn disliked immensely the fact that she'd lost nearly a week to the kolto tank; it was preferable to weeks of convalescence, and less than if she hadn't the Force on her side, but it was still time wasted - time the Republic had to best them, time that _They_ had to make their moves. Malavai still fussed - insisted, once they were underway, on checking her over in the medical bay again, as though he wouldn't have kept an obsessive watch on her status in the tank.

(She wondered sometimes if he'd missed his calling - a dedicated medic, instead of one whose primary focus was elsewhere. He performed admirably, either way - besides which, it was a speculation he would likely have found offence in - that she would have caused, in her inarticulate, frequently clumsy, way)

'Captain,' she began \- sat on the edge of the bay's bed, looping her arms around his shoulders in a calculated attempt to distract him from his task at hand, 'Perhaps if you want to conduct a thorough examination, we should retire to our quarters?'

'My lord,' he replied \- and when he said it there and then, it was a term of deference rather than endearment, 'You will recall that a thorough _medical_ examination is a requirement, per Imperial regulation 229-4A-'

( _Later_ , he promised - a whisper, pressed against her ear, a secret just for her and him) (and while that wasn't quite the distraction she wanted, it was still the kind of reassurance that she needed)

-

Her mail notifications would not go away, no matter how many times she dismissed them; apparently her mother was still allergic to the word 'no'. 

_I appreciate the offer, mother, but I am extremely busy. Please pass my regards along to father, and to Darth Orsus._

At least three of whom were going to take offence, but that had never stopped her before.

-

There was one conversation she needed to have - another conversation she'd been avoiding, another set of _whys_ and _wherefores_ that she hadn't wanted to address. A part of her still wanted to put it off further - it was a confrontation that she felt ill prepared for (was there any that she'd ever felt confident in?) - but the sooner it was dealt with, the sooner, she hoped, it would resolve.

The cargo bay was neutral territory, in theory; it was where Broonmark usually skulked when not off on hunts, and where Eirn took her frustrations out on training droids. It hummed, at the current time - an unpleasant, crackling sensation that crawled across the nape of Eirn's neck, setting her at unease. The Seeds slept, or so she was assured, but that didn't mean she relished the thought of handing them off any less.

'Jaesa. Broonmark. Thank you for joining me here.'

It was just the three of them - Eirn in loose, civilian clothing, Jaesa in the comfortable robes she wore in their downtime. The Jedi had instilled many bad habits in Jaesa Willsaam, and the robes were one she was yet to shake - dowdy and demure, good for hiding armour beneath but less than suitable for the apprentice of a Sith Lord.

'<We follow the Sith-clan-leader's path, wherever it leads.>'

'Are we... going to spar?' Jaesa glanced between the two of them, almost getting it.

'Not quite,' Eirn replied, sighing. Jaesa was talented, but... talent could only carry one so far. 'Jaesa, starting tomorrow, you will be training with Broonmark.'

'What?' Jaesa was immediately moving to protest - glancing rapidly between Eirn and Broonmark, the latter of whom remained unmoved.

'<The Sith-clan-leader's heir blunts her claws and files her teeth. We cannot teach those unwilling to learn.>' Broonmark was as unenthused about this plan as he had been when Eirn had originally approached him about it; Eirn didn't exactly blame the Taalz for his reticence, and wasn't entirely convinced that Jaesa would dissuade him, either.

'I'm not-!' Jaesa started, again - turning her protests to Broonmark for a moment. The Taalz was unfazed, though - meeting Jaesa's wounded glare with his own unfazed expression.

'Jaesa,' Eirn added, 'This is not up for debate.' She'd been lax on the girl - _too_ lax, and it showed.

Broonmark remained silent - just eyed Jaesa again for a long moment, or at least appeared to. Eirn didn't understand Taalz body language enough to get a good read on him - and rather suspected that even if she did, that Broonmark would reject the idea he had anything in common with most Taalz. The Force didn't give her many more answers, either; neither Jaesa nor he were thrilled by this idea, but this was something she already knew. Broonmark had been reluctant enough when Eirn had first broached the idea with him - and Jaesa was the very opposite of what he considered to be a worthwhile opponent.

_Which is exactly why she needs him._

'This is because of what happened on Hoth, isn't it.' Jaesa crossed her arms defensively, glaring defiantly at her Master. Eirn had to admit there were downsides to having worked on encouraging the girl to work past the humility that her past had drilled into her, and this was one of them.

'Amongst other things,' Eirn replied. As much as she disliked it, Jaesa still fought too much like a Jedi for her comfort - still _thought_ too much like one, even as Eirn had to simultaneously admit that she wouldn't want an entirely orthodox Sith for an apprentice, either.

'<Do, or do not. It does not concern us. We kill in the name of the Sith-clan. If the Sith-clan-leader's heir wishes to prove her worthiness, we are ready. If not, we will not concern ourselves.>'

'Alright,' Jaesa just muttered, though - not thrilled about this development, but at least attempting to take it in her stride. 'I will not disappoint you, Master.'

-

_Pathcarver, you are cleared for docking. May I say, Lord Wrath, it's an honour to have you here._

'Say it all you want,' Eirn muttered to herself, a little sourly. From her vantage point on her ship's bridge, looking out, _Arcanum_ looked no different to any other Imperial station - but that, she supposed, was only to be expected.

Malavai, from the pilot's seat, shot her a curious, wary glance. 'My lord?'

Eirn, though, just sighed. 'Nothing. Get us docked. I want this over and done with as soon as possible. Captain, the bridge is yours.'

-

'Lord Wrath. A surprise and a pleasure. When Darth Acina said you would be coming here...'

Eirn felt sorely underdressed, stepping aboard the Arcanum, for any number of reasons. Her armour was still in need of repair and replacement; what had been salvageable had been serviced, during her stint in the kolto, but time and ill-tempered rancors had worn a victory that no amount of restoration could undo. For now, she was dressed as imposingly as she could manage - which was to say, she wore standard-issue trooper's armour, requisitioned during their last supply stop for use in the field. It wasn't very _Sith_ , but it was at the very least visibly armoured. Her longcoat, bearing the scars of her rancor encounter, hung slightly awkwardly over it; her lightsaber was pointedly, openly, carried on her hip. Hardly the creature that had stalked her sister's nightmares - or that stalked her own, for that matter - but then, reality was rarely a match for what one could dream up.

Jaesa, accompanying her, wasn't much better; she refused to wear Imperial armour, and Eirn had neither time nor desire to try and make her, but her robes (still irritatingly plain) did at least conceal slim body armour - not much, but still better than nothing.

'And you are?'

The Sith in front of her was tall, and pale - not in the way of a lighter-skinned species, but that of a corpse. A result, she could only assume, of over-exposure to Dark artefacts \- or channelling the darker, wilder depths of the Force. Deadly rivalries were not the only source of injury among Sith; one of the many risks of fuelling power with passion was its wild and often unpredictable nature. Such power exacted a very visible toll, which those who paid it wore as a badge of honour - an undeniable demonstration of the power they commanded, and the lengths they took to do to so.

(Eirn had never felt tempted, though - not to plumb the kinds of depths that power required. Her fear and her vanity were, for once, allies; besides which, her skin already proved she was Sith beyond any kind of reasonable doubt)

'I am Tagriss, Lord Wrath,' the Sith replied, with an elaborate bow. 'I understand you were fortunate enough to be charged with retrieving the Seeds by Darth Acina.'

Eirn just studied the man for a further long moment. His face was enough of a patchwork of cybernetics that it made reading his expression difficult, and all the Force gave her was a meandering aura of vague irritation and disdain. Acina's forwarded messages had contained little in the way of a brief - Eirn rather suspected that Acina would have preferred she not be making this stop at all, but changing nature of the situation had required a change in plans.

'You understand correctly, Lord Tagriss,' Eirn replied, crossing her arms and glancing over the men accompanying Tagriss. Imperial soldiers - blind to the Force, but armed and armoured and, Eirn had to assume, trained and tested in fighting Force users. Considering the nature of this place, Eirn found it unusual that it was staffed by the normal rank-and-file - that the Imperial Guard were not guarding the Emperor's toybox.

Tagriss, though, was focused on the Seeds - on the repulsor cart their containers were currently occupying. The Corellian Seed's container still bore its scars from the rancor encounter; Eirn still wasn't convinced that its seal had survived the encounter entirely intact, and was not sorry that this would no longer be her problem.

'This isn't all of them.' He made it as a statement, but it read as an accusation, too - that she was hiding some, or was being too slow in their recovery. Or both.

'No,' Eirn replied, 'It's not. These are the Seeds that I've been able to retrieve thus far, using the information from our... _informant_.'

Something wasn't quite right, here; it nagged at her, tugged at the very edges of her consciousness. Eirn couldn't pin down exactly what it was, but that only bothered all the more; there was something faintly nostalgic, in the worst possible way, that toyed with her awareness in a way she did not appreciate.

'Ah, yes,' Tagriss mused - picking up the Corellian Seed's container, and inspecting it for himself. 'Darth Acina's captive. It's unfortunate,' he added, 'I'd liked to have spoken to him myself.'

Eirn got the distinct impression that Tagriss would have done more than _spoken_ ; they were, after all, Sith. 'You knew the traitor?'

('Master...' Jaesa murmured, trying to catch Eirn's attention - and getting it, but only for a fraction of a second)

'Not personally,' Tagriss replied, making a dismissive gesture; replacing the Seed's vessel on the cart, before making some signal to one of his staff. 'Arcanum is a large facility, Lord Wrath. I can't personally oversee all of its staff.'

'So it is,' Eirn mused, glancing past Tagriss. The Imperial soldiers were watching this exchange closely, though the Force betrayed nothing of their reactions. It was impressive, and a little unnerving. 'Though perhaps more oversight is what's required, given the gravity of the situation.'

'With respect, Lord Wrath,' Tagriss began, irritably, ( _Here we go_ , Eirn mused), 'Arcanum's security is second to none. The Republic doesn't even know we exist. Most of the Empire does not know we exist. Until recently,' he added, smirking a little, ' _You_ did not know we exist.'

Clearly she'd struck a nerve; then again, Acina had never struck Eirn as the type to be overly forgiving of mistakes. 

'And yet,' Eirn replied, ignoring his derision of her station, 'Servants of the Dread Masters were still able to infiltrate this facility, steal some of its most guarded treasures, and leave intact.' Mostly intact, anyway. 

'If you have a point, my Lord,' he replied evenly, 'I would be grateful if you made it plain.'

Eirn started to reply; had the words half-formed when Tagriss got their first, cutting her off mid-thought.

'Never mind,' he said, 'It seems that all those stories I've kept on hearing really are true. Not that it really matters.'

Eirn didn't follow - frowned, half to herself. 'Stories?'

'About your apprentice, Wrath. I was wondering when one of you would work up the courage to puzzle it out. Tell her, girl,' he added, shooting an amused glance at Jaesa.

Eirn had an extremely bad feeling about this, and found herself reaching for her saber.

'He's-' Jaesa started \- glancing between the two of them, before swallowing hard. 'He serves- the Dread Masters. He's the one who...'

_Shit._

'He's- controlled? Like the ones on Belsavis-?' Eirn started - backing half a step away from Tagriss, her saber out and lit before she'd even finished speaking.

Tagriss, though, just chuckled darkly. 'You insult me, Wrath. No, I choose to serve the Masters - because unlike you, I recognise who the greatest power in the galaxy is, and it's not the rotting corpse you call your Emperor.'

_Shit shit shit._

Eirn ignored the jibe, though - there were more immediate problems to be faced, like the traitor who stood in front of her.

'You're outnumbered, Tagriss. Come peacefully, and I may be able to persuade the Council to be merciful.' At least, as merciful as Sith ever were; which was to say, not very, but a swift and painless death was still a greater mercy than being made a protracted example.

('Master,' Jaesa murmured, 'I don't think-')

'On the contrary,' Tagriss replied, 'You're the one outnumbered, Wrath. This facility is mine, and its staff answer to me, not your Darth Acina. It's unfortunate that you've forced my hand so early,' he added, 'But... how did you put it? It's been an honour to serve.'

Outnumbered or not, though, Eirn was not one to go down without a fight - her saber brought to bear on Tagriss before he'd even finished speaking. Tagriss struck her first, though \- sending her staggering backwards with a blow through the Force, before taking off into the facility. Jaesa took after him immediately, darting after him out of the docking bay and towards the turbolifts; Eirn followed her in turn, once she'd pulled herself up.

The docking bay's automatic doors slammed shut in her face, though - refused to open, even she slapped the panel on its side. Eirn ended up kicking it in frustration, snarling and striking uselessly at it with her saber. It was reinforced, of course; all Imperial facilities were, protected against the possibility of assault by rebellious Sith or invading Jedi. An announcement sounded over the facility's intercom a moment later that made her pause - followed, not half a moment later, by alarms beginning to sound.

_All hands. Lockdown protocol Five-Nine-Besh is in effect. The Wrath and her crew must not be allowed to leave._

'Shit,' Eirn muttered, grabbing her holo - pinging Jaesa's, and hoping her apprentice had been attentive enough to bring hers with her.

'Jaesa. What's going on in there?'

' _I'm fine_ ,' Jaesa replied, not hesitating in the slightest. ' _He shut me out of the turbolift, though. I- don't know where he went._ '

'Alright,' Eirn muttered, back to pacing irritably. ' _Pathcarver_? Are you picking this up?'

Eirn glanced back to the airlock that led to her ship, not expecting it to be accessible - and not disappointed by this low expectation. The air hummed with hostility - nothing was striking against her yet, but that was only a matter of time.

_This place must have automated defences. So why hasn't he activated them?_

' _Affirmative, my Lord._ ' Malavai was, as ever, entirely level-headed in a crisis. ' _The docking station appears to be under complete lockdown. We cannot disengage._ '

'What about the fleet?' Eirn was not just pacing irritably, but waving her saber in small, tight circles. It hummed as it cut through the air, almost as much as the Force did. 'Can we call for support?'

' _All communications appear to be jammed, my lord. Standard procedure, of course. You'll need to shut down the jammer manually._ '

_Great_. 'Of _course_ ,' she replied, sighing - as much defeated as it was snide.

_'Assuming a standard layout, access to the communications array should be on level three. Under standard lockdown procedures, the internal turbo lifts will be locked, but you should be able to us-_ '

' _Imp lifts are way easy to slice, though. Jae, you remember what I taught you?_ ' Vette was never fazed by much either, though - including, occasionally, basic etiquette.

' _I do. Hang on..._ ' Jaesa replied, sounding slightly distracted.

Eirn was in the process of marshalling an interruption of her own, when the door abruptly half-opened - not all the way, but more than enough for Eirn to spot her apprentice digging into the wiring behind a wall panel - for her to squeeze through, once she was certain they weren't going to slam back down on her.

('Good work,' Eirn murmured, even as she kept a watchful eye on the lifts; 'Thank you, Master,' Jaesa replied, ever deferential but at least the littlest bit proud)

'Jaesa and I will work on the communications,' Eirn added, addressing her crew.

' _I got a couple ideas about the docking clamps_ ,' Vette piped up, ' _but it's gonna take a while._ '

Eirn didn't like the idea of leaving her crew trapped where they were - but it was a defensible position. Besides which, Tagriss himself was still somewhere on the station - was still the greatest immediate threat.

'Keep in touch,' she just replied, though,

-

The first turbolift took them as far as level sixteen, before refusing to go further - not unexpectedly, but definitely annoyingly. 

Eirn wasn't certain what to expect when she stepped out, but it certainly wasn't the chaos that greeted her. Apparently not as many of Arcanum's staff answered to Tagriss as he might have liked - or perhaps some were having second thoughts, faced with the prospect of the Emperor's Wrath visiting them in person. Regardless of the reasons, Arcanum had become a warzone in itself, loyalists and traitors turning on each other.

In quieter times, this place was likely a model of Imperial efficiency, as well as a repository of Sith power. Level sixteen opened up into the specimen storage units, an intricate network of lifts and platforms, taking several levels of the station just on its own. The air hummed, and not just with fear and hostility - but with _power_ , the sort that had leeched into the very walls after decades of storing the Empire's most secret trinkets.

_It's probably just as well Baras never got wind of this._ Eirn had no trouble imagining that her once-Master would have salivated at the thought of so many secrets - of so much _power_ \- locked up tightly, under loyal Imperial guard. _And all of it his, had he succeeded._

Her thoughts were interrupted by a droid falling past their ring - screaming all the way down, disappearing into the depths of the station. Glancing upwards, it was impossible not to see the firefights breaking out between Arcanum's staff - between those loyal to Tagriss (to _Them_ ), and those who -for whatever reason - refused to bow.

'Onwards, I suppose,' she murmured, mostly to herself.

'Master,' Jaesa started, as they walked - a brisk pace, but a walking pace all the same - 'If- Lord Tagriss gets away-'

'He won't if I can help it, Jaesa,' Eirn replied, sharply. She'd bled too much just to roll over and let _Them_ get the better of her, even indirectly. 

'But if he does-'

'He _won't_.'

-

Level fifteen brought with it the first group of survivors - there'd been corpses, both peppered with blaster fire, and from the animals that had come loose in the fighting, but few in the way of live guards. All of them, though - the living and the dead - wore Imperial uniforms, carried Imperial weapons, pretended to Imperial ranks - Eirn, at the very least, had trouble immediately telling their loyalties. That they would have received training in fighting Sith only made matters worse - made it easier for them to put up shielding that would take time and effort to punch through.

'You there. Soldier,' she managed - announcing her presence to the group (ignoring the way Jaesa winced at her tone). 'What's your status?'

'Lord Wrath,' the apparent leader of their unit replied - levelling his weapon at _her_ , but not firing - not yet. The others followed suit - those that weren't too busy clutching bandages to bleeding wounds, or trying to staunch the wounds of others.

'Please stand down, my lord,' he added, his tone not deferential in the slightest, 'or we will open fire.'

Eirn glanced over the guardsmen - who she still couldn't get a read on, other than the fact they were _there_. It was frustrating, to say the least - but she was reluctant, too, to strike at loyal Imperial troops whose only crime was poor taste and timing.

'Lord Tagriss is a traitor to the Empire,' she replied, drawing herself to her full height - assuming her stance, and preparing for a fight. 'If you-'

'Surrender,' their leader interrupted, 'And the Masters may accept you into their communion.'

_Well._

Eirn had a better plan for her existence than surrendering to- _anyone_ , in truth, but particularly _Their_ servants. 'Can't say I didn't try,' she muttered; lit her saber, and assumed her stance.

(Jaesa, standing behind her, slightly to the right, lit her own saber - more reluctantly that Eirn, but every inch as stubborn)

-

There was still something distinctly unpleasant about fighting her way through a station of Imperial personnel - having to interrogate Imperial soldiers as to their loyalty, having to glance at Jaesa every time to confirm their stories. 

( _but would you even know_ , her paranoia wondered, _if jaesa turned against you? if she faltered, if she lied-_ )

The wastefulness of using Imperial troops in Sith games had been _annoying_ when Eirn had been an apprentice, young and idealistic and full of high-minded ideas of Sith responsibility. Now, here - still young, but not quite so idealistic - it was enraging, every selfish play just as much as a betrayal as Malgus's. ( _If we spent half as much time fighting Jedi as we do each other_ -)

'Alright,' Eirn mused though, pulling out her holo - hailing her ship, and, 'I'm here. Now what?'

' _My lord._ _There should be dedicated console controlling the main communications array. You'll need to find it and disable the jamming signal from there._ '

'Console, console...' There were consoles all over the bloody place - it was a control centre, after all. The Force tugged her towards to one in particular, though - one that was had one of Tagriss's adherents slumped across it, his armour scant protection for a crushed throat. Shifting his corpse out of the way revealed a status screen that looked promising - along with the sinking feeling as she realised she was, once more, out of her depth.

'Jaesa,' Eirn added - swallowing her pride, for now, 'You'll need to...' she finished, trailing off and gesturing in a hopeful manner.

Jaesa did not, at the very least, rub it in - just nodded, immediately setting to work on the console while Eirn paced. She was not used to feeling extraneous; it was not a pleasant feeling, especially as a Sith. It did not help that the Force still hummed its warnings, along with the sounding mundane alarms - both of which served to set and keep Eirn's nerves on edge.

'There,' Jaesa managed - after far too long, 'It should-'

' _Excellent work, my lords._ '

Eirn wasn't certain that her presence had even been necessary, but kept that thought to herself. 

'Contact Acina immediately. Once-' Eirn started - pausing as the Force screamed at her to move. She listened to it, too - readying her saber as the doors opened, their quarry bringing himself rather helpfully to them. He reacted immediately, lightning arcing at the pair of them; so did Eirn, dodging his first cast (it hit one of the wall consoles, frying it spectacularly) and catching the second with her saber - before throwing the lightning back out to one side, where it struck the ground, dissipating uselessly.

Tagriss just snorted, at her waste of his attack; almost seemed to waver, as he stood, though Eirn wasn't certain that wasn't a trick of the light. He held a staff, in one hand, like a walking stick - an ancient thing, carved from some unknowable material and pulsing faintly with a power that sang out to her - that was entrancing, in its own way, and it took Eirn a very long moment to realise that she'd actually been _staring_. 

'You certainly are persistent, Lord Wrath,' he said, glancing over her - glancing at Jaesa, too, though only for a moment. 'You are wasted on the Empire.'

'It's over, Tagriss,' Eirn replied - adding, as cliché as the line was, 'You're not going to get away with this.'

Tagriss, though, just smiled. 'It is far from over, Wrath. You of all people should know that the Masters are generous to their faithful. Agree to serve, and you will be richly rewarded.'

That was so ridiculous a notion that Eirn actually laughed at him - that he would offer, that he thought she might ever accept. The Dread Masters might have been undeniably powerful - but that did not mean Eirn felt even the smallest inclination to serve them. 

'A pity,' Tagriss said, taking her laugh as his answer. 'but if you insist on doing it the hard way...'

He didn't run that time, and nor did she - though he, she couldn't help but notice, had foregone his saber entirely. She thought nothing of it, too - assuming his overconfidence and leaping in, bracing immediately to make her own attack. When he reached to choke her, crushing her neck with the Force, she pushed through it - throwing him away and off balance, just for a moment - just for long enough for her to breathe again, to strike back and put him on the defensive. She had to put an end to this here and now, before this spiralled any more out of control - and he apparently had the same thought, striking at her with the staff - and not even with the staff, but the energies in it, which sent her staggering clumsily backwards - her saber clattering to the floor as she lost her grip-

_it felt like drowning and suffocating and crushing, all at once- like black water, the void of space distilled into an empty chamber - surrounding her, swallowing her, sucking her down into infinite, incomprehensible, depths-_

'Pathetic,' Tagriss muttered, stepping over Eirn - ignoring her entirely, focused now on Jaesa - who was staring at him with a horrified expression. 'What about you, girl? Are you so in thrall to your spineless Master that you'll die alongside her?

'I am not,' Jaesa replied - defiantly igniting her own saber, even as Tagriss advanced on her, ' _anyone's_ thrall.'

_-a hundred thousand jagged knives - each one pinning her down, dragging at her every thought, drawing at her every breath, grinding on her every nerve, bleeding her with every movement and in every stillness - every movement requiring the will of a thousand armies, while all she had was hers -_

'A pity,' Tagriss mused, 'Your gift could have truly been a boon to our cause.'

_-fire, searing exposed nerve, blindingly hot and staggeringly cold, screeching across every level of awareness - a cacophony of noise, blinding and deafening, grating every sense and drowning every inaction-_

\- and Eirn staggered to her feet, gritting her teeth as she pulled against the energies that Tagriss had launched at her - that still jolted across her body, as the remainders and reminders of his attack attempted to earth themselves. She did not hesitate, and offered no warning - simply lit her saber and, in a single move, crossed the distance between them, pressing the attack. He turned, though - saw and _felt_ (and _saw_ ) her strike - and struck at her, in turn, effortlessly blocking her attack entirely with the staff. _No, not the staff-_

\- not the staff, but the bubble of dark energies that flowed around him - enveloping him, flowing from the staff like water from a rotten river, empowering and consuming him all in the same moment.

{ _arrogant wrath_ }, he seethed - his voice not even his, in that moment, but something quite else all together, { _yours will be an unmourned death_ }

- _and then there was a thousand darknesses, each one a different shade of void from the last, each as deadly and each as infinitely vast and immeasurably small as the others; and then there was not nothing, but the un-thing - the thing-which-is-not, the absence which was neither light nor dark nor life nor death but the abscess left behind when all else was drained away-_

_-and then finally, blissfully,_

_nothing._

-

By the time the world swam back into focus - by the time Eirn managed to pull herself back to her feet, new bruises and all, Tagriss - and whatever that other presence had been - were long gone, leaving Eirn and Jaesa on their own. Jaesa, at least, seemed none the worse for her encounter - a little shaken, perhaps, but - apparently - intact.

'What was that-?'

'It wasn't him,' Eirn murmured - the presence that had been in that staff had been far stronger, far fouler - but it wasn't anything like _Them_ , either. No doubt there was something deep in Acina's databases that could provide some enlightenment - but Eirn found herself not entirely sure she _wanted_ to know.

Her thoughts, though, were interrupted by her holo sounding - from where it had fallen onto the floor during the- well, _fight_ was hardly the word, but-

' _My lord. Is everything alright?_ ' 

Eirn glanced over the mess that the communications array had turned into. It could have been better... 'As alright as can be expected. What's your status?'

' _The docking bay is still under lockdown, but Darth Acina's team are taking remote control of the station. I am assured that the situation is well under control. And... Darth Acina would like to speak to you as soon as possible, my lord._ '

'Naturally.' _Great._

-

' _Wrath_.'

At least Arcanum's communications array came with its own holoterminal; several, actually, but Acina was apparently a fan of the large one in the centre of the room. Tagriss likely was, too, Eirn mused - before wincing at the comparison.

'Darth Acina. Arcanum is compromised.' Eirn saw no point in mincing words; it was late (early?), and she was too tired for games.

'So I am told,' Acina replied, her expression one best described as _exhausted fury_. 'You had better have _some_ good news for me, Wrath.'

'Unfortunately, Dark Lord, I'm not certain I do,' Eirn replied - wondering, briefly, how prone Acina was to more _traditional_ punishments for failure. 'Your man here, Tagriss. Name ring a bell?'

Acina nodded, dubiously. 'Lord Tagriss is one of my most senior staff. His loyalty to the Empire is second to none. If you're trying to say that _he_ -!'

'Unfortunately,' Eirn replied, interrupting - there was no easy way to break this sort of thing, but- 'Lord Tagriss has fallen under the sway of the Dread Masters.'

'Wrath,' Acina started, 'If this is supposed to be some kind of joke-'

'When it comes to the Dread Masters, Dark Lord, I do not _joke_.' Eirn surprised herself with her tone - with her ability to say _Their_ name without it getting stuck in her throat.

'My apprentice uncovered his loyalty while aboard the station,' she added, 'and is reviewing your remaining personnel as we speak. If there are any further weaknesses in Arcanum's staff, we will find them,' Eirn finished, powering on over Acina's indignation.

'Your apprentice-?' Acina started, somewhere between intrigued and offended. 'We've all heard the stories, Wrath,' she added, 'But Baras was a braggart at the best of times-'

'If you doubt my apprentice's power, Dark Lord, then I can arrange for a demonstration. Lord Tagriss's actions, however, speak for themselves. He is gone, along with numerous artefacts.'

'And the Seeds?'

Eirn winced a little, at that. 'Gone with him, to my knowledge. I will not rest, Dark Lord,' she added, pre-empting what was coming next, 'Until they are returned to their proper place and he has been brought to justice.' Sith justice, of course - but then, wasn't that what she did? What she was here for?

Acina, though, just managed a long, tired sigh - massaged the bridge of her nose as she thought for a response, closing her eyes and looking for all the world like she just wanted to go back to sleep.

'Have your... _apprentice_ finish up there, and detain anyone you believe compromised. I will interview them further myself. As for you,' Acina added, 'Come back to Dromund Kaas, Wrath. We can discuss this further in person.'

Eirn just nodded, offering Acina the very smallest of bows. 'As you say, Dark Lord.'

-

Eirnhaya did not sleep, despite Malavai's best efforts; she spent the journey back to Dromund Kaas in the galley, much to Twovee's audible dismay, methodically eating cold pancakes she'd found in the refrigeration unit and trying not to chew over the fact the Seeds had, once again, been lost to- to _Them_. That Tagriss had been one of _Their_ servants. That _she_ had handed them over to him, that after all that had transpired others might end up drawing the conclusion that _she_ was one of _Their_ servants (and what if she was, her paranoia argued, and she didn't even know it?)-

'Master! I'm so sorry! If you wanted a meal, I could have prepa-'

'Shut up, Twovee,' Eirn managed, through a mouthful of pancake. Usually she was better about her table manners, but her only company was part of the furniture - besides which, she had more important things on her mind.

The droid apologised, again, and she ignored it - continuing to methodically eat cold pancakes (cut into pieces - skewered with a fork, chewed, swallowed, repeat) and stare obliviously into the middle distance.

-

Darth Acina's morning schedule started at 0800, Imperial Standard Time. Eirnhaya knew this because she'd recieved a holonet mail as soon as they'd dropped out of hyperspace informing her of Acina's office hours - and the fact that she was required to see Acina in person as soon as she was onworld. 

Acina didn't look like she'd slept much, either - a fact Eirn tried to draw a little comfort from, and failed. (Jaesa, standing next to Eirn, was the only one of the three who looked rested - even if Eirn knew it was lie founded on meditation and cosmetics)

'It would appear,' Acina muttered, after their greetings had been exchanged, 'My Sphere is more compromised than I thought.'

Eirn said nothing; there wasn't much she could, not without drawing Acina's ire her way. 

'I suppose there is some fortune to be found in all this,' the Darth added, pacing a little as she spoke. 'Your apprentice's work, should it continue to prove accurate, has been invaluable in rooting out the remaining... _problems_ in Arcanum's former staff.'

(Jaesa had the good manners to offer a silent bow in gratitude, but otherwise made no response)

_Just as long as you don't try to court her,_ Eirn mused. Sith pilfering talented and gifted apprentices was not unheard of - it was an unfortunate side effect of the tendency of Sith to use their apprentices as glorified servants, not to mention general Sith methods of advancement. Darth Vengean had once made such an overture to her - there were times when she wondered what would have happened, had she accelerated Baras's demise at her hands, and there were times that she remembered that would only have placed her even closer to the Dark Council.

'Has your captive provided any new information?' Eirn asked, deflecting the conversation elsewhere; there were other layers of meaning in Acina's statement, and they were not things Eirn particularly wanted to explore.

'Nothing,' Acina muttered, irritably. 'At least,' she added, 'Not regarding this matter.' She paused, looking straight at Eirn - who met her gaze, even if she did not challenge it.

'There are Seeds still in the wild,' Acina added, 'But those, I will have other agents sent after. You, Wrath, I need on hand. As soon as we have a lead on Tagriss...'

'He will share the fate of all traitors,' Eirn replied, without hesitation. Another surprise - she meant it, too, even as this betrayal had been utterly impersonal.

'I'm glad to hear it,' Acina replied - back to pacing. 'That will be all, Wrath,' she added, making a dismissive gesture. 'I hope to have news for you soon.'

Eirn simply made a bow, and a farewell, and left.


	11. Precipitation

It was raining.

This in itself was not unusual; rain on Kaas was like snow on Hoth. It was an inevitability, best accepted and prepared for.

Eirnhaya could feel the raindrops on her skin, hear them as they hit the ground. Soft and warm and wet, comforting and unfamiliar. She closed her eyes, and let her head fall back \- let the rain fall on her face, where it trickled down towards the ground. She could have spent eternity like that, just standing in the rain, letting it gather in puddles around her. No - not puddles, lakes, and it already _was_ , soft warm rainwater that lapped at her waist, that swirled around her ankles when she shifted her feet, that made the gentlest pattering sound when raindrops hit the surface.

A distant peal of thunder got her attention, though - snapped her out of her reverie and she opened her eyes, looking up at the sky. It was angry, but not in a way that Kaas's sky ever was - this was Korriban's, streaked in the colours of rust and blood. The rain wasn't even water, either - it was _blood_ , pouring down from angry, bleeding clouds, and she was _standing_ in it, in this lake of blood that just kept rising - that matted her hair, that pulled against her skin where it dried and her skin _was_ blood, slick and soft and barely distinguishable from the surface of the lake, not just because of its colour but its very form. 

She was melting, she realised, into nothing - dissipating, spread ever thinner until there was almost nothing left-

Another peal of thunder (louder, closer) made her start - made the world swim into view and focus, harsh and dry and _solid_ in a way that blood wasn't.

It took Eirnhaya a moment to work out where she was - to remember she was planetside, lying in an unfamiliar bed, listening to unfamiliar rain. Malavai was next to her, as he always was; curled around her, his skin warm against hers, his sleep uninterrupted. She needed, for a long moment, to pull away - to re-establish her boundaries, to remind herself where she ended and the rest of existence began. She couldn't, though - not without risking waking him, and prompting the well-intentioned spiral of probing questions.

Instead, Eirn just lay there, in his arms; listened to the rain, and wondered if it ever truly ended.

-

Kaas City would not have been Eirnhaya's first choice for owning an apartment, whether now or when she'd been a bright-eyed young acolyte. Kaas was temperate planet, ill suited for red Sith, but Baras had been as human as they came. He'd operated from the seat of the new Empire, and expected his apprentices to do the same; Eirn had not been thrilled by the idea, but too enraptured by her apprenticeship to complain - much. 

Her apartment had been a necessity - a series of necessities, traded up for larger, more permanent arrangements as time and income had allowed. The first had been a slightly dingy affair with a single bedroom (Vette had fumed when the realtor had addressed her as a slave, suggesting that the Twi'lek be grateful that her Sith allowed her a _bed_ ); the second not much better, and the third mostly notable for its proximity to a taxi station (great for early morning starts, not so great on weekends, when the nightclubs turned out at odd hours and Baras still demanded she be ready for his work in a timely manner).

The fifth - this one, a penthouse suite in the expansion district that looked out over the jungle on one side and the citadel on the other - had been acquired on her ascendance to Lord, its housewarming serving as a celebration for _that_ , too. In any other lifetime, Eirn might have long dispensed with residences on Kaas entirely, but an impulsive offer of protection extended towards the elder Willsaams during her own apprenticeship had found her a responsibility she felt uneasy about simply shrugging off. The Willsaams had a residence, and a purpose; she had allies on the ground, and safe retreat in the city.

(Jaesa's mother had once caught her and Malavai tearing each other's clothes off in the kitchen, late one night - while the both of them were happily inebriated, the result of celebrating Baras's ascendance to the Dark Council. It hadn't been much of a personal victory, but an excuse to party was an excuse to party - and Eirn had found herself a dress that her officer found extremely difficult to resist. Malavai, one hand working its way up his lord's skirts, had been utterly mortified; Eirnhaya, her own hands already inside her officer's dress uniform, had been drunkenly embarrassed but entirely undeterred. The senior Ms Willsaam, by contrast, was utterly unflappable, and had simply bid the pair goodnight, her only comment on the situation being the discreet suggestion the next morning that Eirn familiarise herself with disabling the silent alarm)

Sitting around doing nothing was not Eirn's preferred course of action - ever, never mind when there were more important games afoot. Not while the Empire suffered because of her failures. Not while there was justice not yet meted out - particularly when it was justice _she_ was yet to mete out (justice she had failed to mete; justice that, from certain perspectives, should have been meted out on _her_ ).

When she'd answered to Baras, there'd never been an end to the tasks that required his apprentice's attention - whether it was running messages, shaking down uncooperative bureaucrats, undoing rebellious plots, or digging up lost and half-forgotten trinkets. Acina, by contrast, had neither use nor interest in her time, outside of her search for answers - which, she assured Eirn, would proceed apace without the Wrath's assistance.

(She wondered, at that, if there was some other meaning - if Acina blamed her for the losses at Arcanum, too, if perhaps there was something she should have done - or had been expected to have done, her failure to anticipate every unforeseen reaction being just one more failure by which to judge her)

-

She went on a lone pilgrimage to the Dark Temple; got up with the dawn, one morning, and rented a speeder at the city's edge. Three hours later, not including time spent hacking at overgrown pathways with her saber or pausing to check the navicomputer, she arrived at the Temple's outer grounds - the boundary at which the jungle refused to encroach. Kaas's jungles were as tenacious as its Sith, but the Temple grounds - the ancient stone, steeped in centuries of fear and hatred - where anathema to the buzzing wildlife. No groundsmen needed to tend the Temple courtyards; few things were brave enough to take root in its cracked paving, and fewer still lasted more than half a season.

The last time she'd made this journey, she'd been Baras's apprentice; she'd also not been alone, with Vette accompanying her every step of the way. The Temple grounds had not been empty, either - the remnants of some archaeological expedition gone wrong had shambled in the ruins, possessed by ancient, sometimes vengeful spirits stirred up by events that had passed Eirnhaya by. Baras's task had been simple, at least as Baras's tasks went; to retrieve the _Ravager_ , an artefact that the Emperor had left sealed in his Temple, and which Baras wanted for its ability to extract the truth from its victims. 

(He wanted it, Eirn had realised some time later, because he feared it; the same reason he wanted Karr, the same reason he wanted Jaesa. She doubted somewhat that he had ever feared _her_ , though, even after Quesh - even after facing him again on Korriban)

Now, though, the grounds were all but empty, lending a sacred, unsettling air to the place it had lacked before. The jungle teemed with life, but this place did not - it repulsed it, the dark powers that slept within the Temple grounds enough to push away even the most persistent wildlife. 

It was not bereft of _life_ , though, despite this; the violently red armour of the Imperial Guard just stood out all the more with no others to compete with. There weren't many, but there were enough that she couldn't sneak past - couldn't approach without being addressed by one who, unlike so many others, knew her for who she was.

'Lord Wrath. My apologies, but I cannot let you pass.'

'Whyever not?' Eirn replied - leaving her saber at her hip, at least for now. She had no quarrel with the Guard, and did not want to cause one - even out here.

'The Dark Temple is sealed to all, at the current time. None may enter.'

'By whose order?' she replied, studying the Guardsman. The Imperial Guard proved difficult enough to read with the Force; their auras were as uniform as their armour - a devoted, imperious, disdain. Jaesa had never managed to pry anything further from them, either - though whose power that was a testament to was something Eirn had not yet decided.

'By the Emperor's, of course,' the Guardsman replied. Stupid question, Wrath. What did you expect?

'Of course,' Eirn repeated - glancing past them, at that, at the grounds beyond. Whatever it was that had tugged her to this place was going to have to wait.

She left the Guardsmen at their post, instead having to satisfy her irritation by pacing the courtyard - resisting the urge to pluck her saber from its place at her hip, lest it be taken as a hostile action - before setting back off on the a long journey - _elsewhere_.

-

There'd been a tomb, in that Temple - many tombs, each containing mortal remnants of Sith whose favour - and disfavour - with the Emperor had earned them a resting place close under his watchful eye. Like so many Sith, most had refused to become one with the Force, on death - refused death entirely, resisting all perceived attempts to erase them and theirs from existence. It was one such Sith who'd caused all those problems - the possessions, the madness, the death and chaos. 

There'd been one tomb left undisturbed, though - one which no ghost hovered over, one which no slaves violated in the hopes of some petty vengeance. It was that, if nothing else, that had tugged Eirn to it - a curiosity, wondering what made this tomb so different to the others. All she'd found, though, was a holocron, caked in dirt and, when she'd shaken it free of its ignominious burial, ridden with heresy. She'd buried it again, where she'd found it; Vette, whom she might not have trusted but who knew how and when to keep her mouth shut, said nothing. The name of its author was one that had long ago slipped her mind - but his words remained with her.

_Real strength… comes when one is no longer afraid._

_Easy for you to say, dead man._

-

She dreamt that night of dust, as soft as silk beneath her touch; she dreamt that all things crumbled into nothing, that she left great ugly footprints in a trail that anyone could follow and that even those faded, when the wind blew, into little more than the faintest sign they'd ever been there at all.

-

Time to fill on Kaas meant time filled with the tasks she never had time to, otherwise; meant time meandering, and time chipping away at a laundry list of tasks she had to do but never wanted to get around to doing.

Top of the list - _near_ the top of the list - was setting about replacing her armour, and getting Jaesa fitted for a set of the same. Being fitted for armour was a task she hadn't been able to justify the time for, not of late; this enforced downtime was an opportunity she resented as much as appreciated. She wasn't the only one with mixed feelings on it, either: Jaesa was glad for the break from Broonmark's company, even if she was less than enthusiastic about a fitting for Sith armour. Vette insisted on accompanying them, for reasons Eirn could only guess at; she rather suspected it was more to do with Jaesa than anyone else, though that was a suspicion Eirn kept to herself.

The armourer in question was one she knew from her days as an apprentice; one Baras had instructed her to visit, both on his and on her own behalf, and who was trustworthy in the way that all artisans who served numerous Sith were. Their individual, personal loyalties were both questionable and irrelevant - professional pride and integrity made demands that credits couldn't, and that no amount of tantrums would undo. An artisan rumoured to have betrayed a client's confidence would be shortly out of work, if not removed from the mortal coil entirely. 

(Eirn had wondered, more than once, if there was any assistance the Hand were supposed to have provided - if the Wrath was supposed to keep their own personal armourer on retainer, as the most powerful - and most wealthy - Sith did. Her own finances might have been stable, but did not extend that far; Malavai had run the numbers for her, once, and they'd actually made her feel a little sick)

' _Lord Illte. A pleasure and an honour, as always. And of course, Miss Vette. And this must be your apprentice.._.'

Eirn had never decided quite whether being remembered by the sales clerk was unsettling or not. Unsurprising, given as they were there by appointment (had she really never brought Jaesa here, though? In the- how long had it been?), but unsettling all the same.

'Jaesa Willsaam,' she replied, gesturing towards her apprentice - who offered the clerk a friendly smile, but nothing else. 'My apprentice will also be having a fitting.'

'Of course, my lord.' The clerk was immediately attending to Jaesa, who seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the whole affair.

('Soo,' Vette started, swinging a little on the balls of her feet, 'I'll just-')

'Vette,' Eirn just added, sighing, 'Make yourself useful, and help Jaesa decide on something appropriate.' 

'Appropriate?' Vette replied, lighting up. 'Like, spooky, or-?' she finished, at the look Eirn was giving her.

' _Appropriate_ ,' Eirn replied, 'And not...' _Jedi_.

'Inappropriate. Right,' Vette cut in, before making a show of a dramatic sigh. 'Real helpful instructions there, boss.'

'I am my master's student,' Eirn replied, dryly. 'Now _shoo_.'

-

For Eirn, it was a quick visit; her measurements had not changed much, and she already knew precisely what she wanted. (Malavai had already offered his opinion, of course; recommending materials and styles, his suggestions based on the availability of materials due to the fluctuating war effort as much as pure practical requirements and limitations). This was mostly for Jaesa's benefit, even as Eirn too had need of their services.

She ended up browsing the showroom while she waited for her apprentice, perusing the formal wear on display - on mannequins, rather than on live models. Like most similar artisans, they offered robes and formal wear alongside more practical armourings - Sith, after all, valued many forms of power - and, perhaps more relevantly, were (at least, according to the common wisdom) creatures of habit and comfort.

'You know, I'm pretty sure Captain Stuffy would explode if you wore- pretty much any of these, actually.' 

Vette popping out of almost nowhere with an opinion was entirely unsurprising, even if she hadn't picked up on the Twi'leks presence in the Force. Vette had a talent for inserting herself into places she probably shouldn't be - it was such an event that had acquainted them at all.

'Captain Stuffy?' Eirn just replied, giving Vette a somewhat dubious glance. She'd given up hoping the Twi'lek would ever call him by name - at least, as long as he kept giving Vette the reactions she was looking for.

'Eh,' Vette replied, 'They can't all be winners. Ooh, what about this one?'

Eirn took one look at the dress Vette had spotted, and nearly choked. 

' _No_ ,' she replied emphatically - it was far too exposed, in every sense of the word. To say that it had a plunging neckline would imply the existence of a neckline; it was less a dress and more a strategic arrangement of strips of highly expensive materials. 

There were a good many Sith who thought nothing of exposing as much skin as possible, for myriad reasons - as a challenge to all comers, as a flaunting of scars and sexuality, a statement of power and confidence. Eirnhaya was not one of them, though - she was as acutely paranoid as she was modest, preferring armour and robes that afforded her protection - or at the very least, when the occasion demanded actual _dress_ , enough cover for discreet armouring and concealed weaponry. 

'What?' Vette replied, her face the very picture of innocence. 'You don't agree?'

'Where's Jaesa?' Eirn just replied, deflecting the conversation as far away from herself as she could.

'Finishing up, I think. So,' Vette added, refusing to be deterred, 'what about something less... strappy?'

Eirn bit back the first reply that came to mind - and the second one, two, ending up just giving Vette a pointed glare.

'C'mon, Eir. You look great in a dress. Or, you would, if you ever wore one. I bet even Stuffy would agree.'

'Captain Quinn is not here,' Eirn replied, 'And- Vette, you sound like my mother when you say that.'

'I sound nothing like your mom,' Vette huffed - actually insulted by that comparison. 'Though, you know. Maybe she has a point.'

Eirn just stared at Vette for a long moment, trying to puzzle out if the Twi'lek was being serious or not. It was impossible to tell, especially when she grinned.

-

Eirn took them both to a patisserie, once decisions were made and payment settled - an apology, and a peace offering. Vette had something sickeningly sweet, all chocolate sauce drizzled over fluffy pastry; Jaesa had a fruit tart, while Eirn had a plait with nuts and jam. All three of them had cocoa: Eirn with cream, Jaesa with marshmallows, and Vette, naturally, with both. Jaesa found them a window seat, though that mostly served to allow Vette something to complain about as she glared at the weather outside - a typical Kaas storm, rain pelting down hard enough to bounce off the paving stones.

'The weather here sucks,' Vette grumbled. 'Why can't Sith ever build anywhere nice?'

'Our trials are what make us Sith,' Eirn replied, flatly. 

'Uh-huh,' Vette replied, not convinced in the least. 

'Besides,' Eirn added, 'You consider Nar Shadaa to be _nice_.'

'I _consider it_ to be fun,' Vette retorted. 'I never said it was _nice_. Alderaan was nice,' she added, slightly absent-mindedly. 

'You obviously didn't visit during the winter,' Jaesa replied, grimacing a little. 'Or nerf season.'

'Does it snow?' Vette asked, perking right up at that thought. 'Eir, can we go visit Thul in the winter? Please?'

Eirn, though, just snorted. 'There was plenty of snow on Hoth, and all you did was complain.'

'Hoth was full of pirates,' Vette protested - ' _Bad_ pirates!' she added, at Eirn's incredulous look.

'Nobility are worse,' Jaesa replied, 'Trust me.'

'For Sith,' Vette grumbled, 'you two are real killjoys.'

'You have cream on your nose,' Eirn just replied, not missing a beat - derailing the conversation entirely, and smiling a little at the way Jaesa giggled and Vette just made an undignified _harumph_. 

For all of her exasperation, though, Eirn had to admit - even if only to herself - that she loved both women dearly; she wouldn't have traded either of them for the world. Not a particularly orthodox view, perhaps, but hers, all the same.

('How long as it been there?!' Vette whined - even as she wiped it off with one finger, before licking it off - refusing to let cream go to waste.

'Long enough,' Jaesa replied, still giggling to herself at the sight.)

-

Jaesa approached Eirn on her own, when they were back at the apartment; while Eirn was pacing irritably, half reading feeds on the Holonet and half trying not to dwell on Acina's continued lack of new information.

'Master? Can- I ask you something personal?'

Now there was a question that Eirn knew promised nothing good. She studied Jaesa for a long moment, trying to get handle on her apprentice's aura outside of tightly controlled concern, and getting exactly nowhere.

'Of course, Jaesa. What is it?'

Jaesa, though, hesitated for a further moment - had to steel herself, before speaking. 'I just- wanted to ask if you were alright. With everything that's been going on...'

Nothing quite made her feel cornered like that question - especially when it came from someone who had everything to gain if she answered incorrectly. Jaesa might have been more Jedi than Sith, but she was still a _Sith_ apprentice; Eirn might have trusted her, but that trust wavered every time their closeness brushed up against Eirn's instincts as Sith.

'It's been... difficult,' she admitted, slowly - not quite looking at Jaesa, as she spoke. It was just made all the harder by how much they had in common - how close in age they were, how many of her failures Jaesa had witnessed. 'But I'm... managing, I think.'

'Good. I'm glad,' Jaesa replied - visibly relieved at the answer. 'It's good to have you back,' she added, after a moment - offering Eirn a hopeful smile.

Eirn wasn't certain what to make of that - she hadn't _left_ \- before finally realising, after a long moment, what Jaesa meant.

'It's... good to be back,' she replied, after a moment, 'I think.'

-

There were other advantages to a city apartment; that it saved her trips out from the spaceport was only one. One of the side rooms had been converted into a small gymnasium - nothing particularly extravagant. Exercise mats, free weights, a punchbag - strengthened floors and soundproofed walls. Strength - the raw, physical kind - was an attribute that benefitted more than just Imperial soldiers or bloody-minded Taalz. Sith, too, honed their bodies into weapons, even without the Force; endurance and stamina were more physical attributes than mystical ones, but both were as vital to survival as command of the Force.

It was not a particularly natural state of being for Eirnhaya, though she'd come to grudgingly accept it as a necessity of staying alive. Strength - the raw, physical kind - wasn't something that had Eirn had ever aspired to as a child - or as a younger woman. Her parents were academics; even Darth Orsus, for all his prowess with a lightsaber, was more interested in teasing out the mysteries of the Force than using it as a battering ram. Compared to them, Eirn frequently felt like nothing but an ignorant brute - shunted from Master to Master, pointed at problems they wanted solved with violence and tossed aside - or worse - when they were done.

Exercising at least busied her more than meditation - she could lose herself in the rhythms of her body, distract herself with loud music, push herself ever harder when the rhythms became settled enough her mind began to chase itself again (five more kilograms, five more metres, five more minutes, five more-)

_Malavai_.

He wasn't there, not yet - was headed her way, though, his knot of nervous energy flitting at the very edges of her awareness. He had unwelcome news, perhaps - or wanted her attention on some other task. She loved him desperately, but his nerves were frequently contagious, and hers were far too raw, of late.

Still, there was no point delaying - and Eirn gave the punchbag one last frustrated blow, before starting to finally wind down. The music was the last concession she made to his approach; a recording of _The Silver Blade_ , a notoriously tragic war story that irritated her far more than it inspired her \- which was precisely, in these moments, what she needed. (The lead tenor was cut off, mid lament, and for this, Eirn was none the worse)

'My lord- if I may be so bold...'

Eirn studied him for a slightly tired moment - trying to pick up on what was bothering him, and not getting much more than a slight attack of nerves. 

'Be as bold as you please, Captain,' she replied, refusing to let his nervousness infect her - for now, at least.

Such a statement usually meant he had bad news he didn't want to break - a criticism he was worried she might not want to hear, a suggestion he was worried she might not approve. Once, she'd found his nervous courtesies charming - she still did, a little, she supposed. For the most part, though, she hated it - hated the gulf that existed between them, in those moments, when she was untouchably Sith and he was but a mere mortal, unworthy to so much as breathe the same air as she.

'I took the liberty of contacting Darth Acina's offices while you were out . I was, unfortunately, informed that they are no closer to locating Lord Tagriss or his forces.'

This wasn't news; Acina had just told Eirn to be ready to move as soon as they had information, but no idea of when that time might come. Eirn had offered her own services in extracting that information; Acina had smiled wryly, but turned her down, citing a preference for her own staff in such matters.

(Not for the first time, Eirn found herself wishing she knew what had happened to the Ravager; whether the trinket had ever found its way to Arcanum, or if it had been left to moulder among the rest of her former Master's belongings)

'She said much the same to me,' Eirn replied, sighing - frustrated, as much as anything. Tagriss had gone to ground quite thoroughly - that, or Acina was still too busy trying to put out fires and plug leaks to focus on the threat he posed. The more she had time to dwell on it, the more concerned Eirn grew; she barely knew the man, and yet it was obvious to even her that he posed a very real and deadly threat.

( _For someone in such a trusted position to have pledged their loyalty to -Them-..._ )

'My lord. Eihn,' he added, that nervousness propelling him back out of his normal formality and into the intimate familiarity they shared. 'I was wondering- if you had no plans, and as we are currently awaiting an update from Darth Acina, if you would care to join me tomorrow for a day in the city. The weather is forecast to be acceptably dry, though of course I would take all reasonable precaution,' he added.

'Are... you asking me out on a date?' Eirn had to admit it was something they hadn't really- _done_ much. Between Baras, and- well, mostly Baras, their romance had not exactly been the stuff of dreams and novels. The time they'd had to themselves had mostly been the time between other things; time travelling, time healing, time waiting impatiently on others.

'I- suppose I am, my lord,' he managed, attempting not to trip on the words. That formality evaporated as he reached across - gently took one of her hands in his, barely a touch at all - until she returned the gesture, weaving her fingers around his.

'That does sound nice,' she admitted, smiling faintly. It had been too long since they'd spent time together - _really_ spent time together, not just existed in each other's orbits while undertaking other tasks.

'So- is that a yes, my lord?' he asked - hesitantly seeking clarity. There was a hopefulness in his tone that Eirn had to admit was simultaneously irresistible and heartbreaking; that he trusted her response enough to ask, and was uncertain enough that refusal seemed a real possibility.

Eirn though, just smiled a little more, before reaching up for a single kiss. 'That's a yes, my Captain.'

-

_snow; longing, and loneliness. the taste of frozen saltwater. the scent of frost. the sound of creaking ice._

-

Eirn had to admit that it was actually rather nice to go back to being nobody; at least, as much as any Sith could ever be _nobody_ in the seat of the Empire's power. Still, she wasn't looked at any more askance than any other Sith; wasn't saluted any more nervously, or watched any more closely. Relative anonymity was comforting - reassuring, somehow. Her failures, her heresies - they were unimportant, lost amongst the background noise of thousands of other Sith, all trying to stand out from the crowd in exactly the same way.

Malavai escorted her, his posture and manner unmistakeably military, even if he was not in uniform; an umbrella hooked over one arm, a talisman to guard against unpredicted rainfall. When Eirn reached down and took his free hand in one of hers though, he smiled, a giddy nervousness washing over him that was actually infectious; when he wove their fingers together, it was her turn to irrepressibly smile.

('My lord-' he started, as the realisation began to dawn; 'it's as appropriate as I deem it,' she replied, not letting him finish)

She let him take charge, too; was happy to follow, for once, relaxing just the tiniest amount into the kind of role that any other Sith would have rejected out of hand. (the tiniest amount, but no more than that; relative anonymity was still only relative. She was still Sith, with any number of enemies, even in this place - _especially_ in this place)

-

They ate lunch in a café that overlooked the river - a small, quiet corner, tucked away from the bustle of the city centre, outside the usual haunts of Sith and their apprentices. The foundation district was of historical importance, but economically depressed; the past on Kaas was both far too recent to be romantic, and simultaneously too distant to be attractive to high-powered Imperial bureaucrats or ambitious Sith lordlings.

(She was glanced at, yes, though they were glances she ignored; Sith were rare in these parts, but not unheard of. Besides which - she was _Sith_ , and the Empire, along with all in it, was her birthright)

_It's been owned by the same family for over two centuries. All of the food is prepared on site, using closely-guarded recipes. I'm told the family are able to trace their heritage back to the original colonists, though records from that time are patchy at best. Regardless, it remains a key fixture in the district..._

Malavai was - as he always was - a font of information, bubbling over with minutiae that Eirn had no trouble believing he could have recalled, word-perfect, at any time. There was a shine in his eyes, though, that went beyond his normal attentiveness to his surroundings or accompanying tactical assessments - when he spoke, a sort of joyful, nostalgic passion bubbled up in him that was utterly intoxicating. These were places, she realised, that meant the world to him; today was as much him trying to share his city as it was anything else.

At his insistence, Eirn tried a preserve made from one of the native fruits - an overpoweringly tart thing with a lingering sour aftertaste, that she'd tried unprepared as an apprentice and taken an instant dislike to. The preserve kept its sharp, tart flavour - but offset it with a sweetness that surprised her - made it palatable in a way that she wouldn't have expected.

'It's a little much for me,' he confessed, 'But I suspected you might enjoy it, my lord.'

(and when he called her that, then, it was a term of endearment rather than of deference, despite the public setting; she was _his_ , utterly and unquestionably, the focal point about which his entire world revolved)

'You suspected correctly,' Eirn replied, smiling. 'You really don't like strong flavours,' she added, thoughtfully, 'do you?'

'I- no, my lord,' he admitted, a little awkwardly. 'I tend to find them... overwhelming.'

Eirn, though, just shrugged. 'That's fine, Mal,' she replied, still smiling. 'Means more for me.'

There were a million reasons that was a nonsensical reply, and Eirn could have sworn she saw them all flit across Malavai's mind before he realised she wasn't being serious - and the smile was returned, along with small but genuine laugh.

-

It started to rain lightly while they were walking, arm in arm, through one of the city parks - a tamed green space, hemmed in on every side by deep blue buildings and dominated by intricate water fountain at its centre. The fountain's basin glittered, at a distance; closer up, Eirn could see that it was lined with myriad coins and tokens.

'Supposedly,' Malavai was saying, by way of explanation, 'If you toss in a coin of sufficient value while making a wish, it will come true. Pure superstition, of course...'

'I see,' Eirn mused, glancing at the basin, but most of her attention on him. 'So what would you wish for?'

'I already have everything I could wish for right here, my love,' he replied, his own attention all on her - pressing a kiss to her forehead, as he spoke.

'Good answer,' she replied - unable to suppress her grin, even if she'd wanted to. 

Malavai was distracted by the weather though, glancing skywards, just for a moment - studying the clouds, puzzling them out ( _calculating_ , Eirn mused, _whether it's worth putting up the umbrella_ ). She just admired him, for a half moment - the gears ticking over in his brain, the constant reassessment of every variable in pursuit of a perfect solution - before reaching up, impulsively, to kiss him. It caught him by surprise - but he returned it, without a second thought, utterly caught up in the moment.

'I love you,' he said \- stammered, as they pulled apart, the words tumbling out before he could stop them (and she could pick it up, too - the reflexive moment of panic as he exposed a part of himself, the deeply ingrained inappropriateness of his response, the equally instinctive need to respond).

Not that he needed to \- but the words still made her smile, all the same. 'I know,' she replied, slightly breathlessly - smiling, a little stupidly. 'I love you, too.'

He grinned, and kissed her again, and the heavens opened, and neither of them really cared.

-

The downpour necessitated an amendment to their plans; an unplanned early retreat to the apartment, an intention for a shower and change of clothing that got lost between the front door and their bed. As the afternoon meandered into evening, though, Malavai apparently had plans, and Eirnhaya was loathe to disappoint him. They ended up at a quiet, informal restaurant in the business district - a relaxed and oddly charming place that Eirn had to admit she'd never have expected Malavai to gravitate to. In the quiet evening air, though, it was perfect - live music, provided by a string quarter; sheltered outdoor dining, which given Kaas's frequent rainfall was a necessity and blessing, both - and a dancefloor, which Eirn had to admit surprised her the most.

They ate pasta, and shared a bottle of wine - all local fare, rather than imported from the most impressive of the Empire's conquests; the Kaas of locals, rather than of ambitious Sith. For all that she'd once dismissed Kaas as blandly Imperial, Eirn had to admit that she'd seen a side to the city she'd never expected to - that she found herself even enjoying. 

'What would you say to joining me for a dance, my Malavai?'

He contemplated refusing - she could see it in his eyes, the aversion that he had to- doing _anything_ in public that might draw attention to himself. It was an aversion that she generally sympathised with, at least a little, but this quiet place was hardly the Vaiken cantina.

'Just one,' she added \- the smallest concession she would make.

He relented, just a little - just enough to take her hand, a fragment of his nervousness evaporating as he did so. 'For you, my lord,' he replied, holding her closely as they stood \- quietly enough that only she could hear, 'only you.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' she murmured, sliding her free hand around his waist - letting it wander down a little, as she became distracted.

'My lord,' he added- barely loudly enough to be audible, 'People are watching...'

There were other couples, other _Sith_ , but Malavai had almost as acute a sense of when he was being watched as she did, and just as much appreciation for it.

'Let them,' she replied though, leaning against him; enjoying her slightly drunken haze, the swaying music, the quiet, half-innocent intimacy. The Force was quiet, other than a lazy hum of power - there was no more danger here than in any other place, and perhaps a good deal less than most. 'Perhaps they'll learn something.'

That was not a reply which set him at ease - but Eirn just caught his gaze again, shifting just enough to kiss him, and all his concerns melted away.

-

_fruit; great piles of it, as far as she could see in any direction. surrounding her, but not crushing her; trapping her, and yet moving around her as she tried to move, almost like water-_

-

Vette, the next morning, was up uncharacteristically early - watching both Eirn and Malavai over the breakfast table with an impatiently expectant expression, like she was waiting for something to happen. Eirn could tell a problem in the making when she saw one, so she did her best to ignore it; Vette, though, was not so easily deterred.

'Sooo... you guys had fun yesterday?'

Eirn wasn't sure what to make of that question - and even less sure when she focused on Vette, who was doing terribly at pretending this was a casual inquiry.

'We did,' she replied, though, 'thank you, Vette,' - smiling just a little, despite herself. An entirely pleasant day, with a highly enjoyable coda - even if she'd slept as well afterwards as she ever did, any more. 

Vette, though, apparently wasn't satisfied by this - kept watching them expectantly, as though waiting for one of them to add something else.

'Vette,' Eirn began, wondering even as she said it how much she was going to end up regretting this, 'Is there something going on that I should know about?'

'No!' Vette replied, far too quickly, and Eirn just sighed. 'No,' Vette added, 'Nothing. Nope.'

Which almost certainly meant there was, but Eirn was in too good a mood to be drawn into this particular mire of intrigue.

'I see,' she mused, though - letting the subject drop, then, and returning her attention to caf and cereal.

(Malavai, sitting next to her, was just giving Vette a steadily more irritated glare; Vette, in turn, was mostly ignoring him, acknowledging his glare only with a pained, innocent, ' _What_?' once Eirn had given up her own enquiries)

'Jae was up super early,' Vette began, between mouthfuls of toasted bread - heaped, of course, with sweet jams. 'I think she's really getting into this whole Taalz training thing. It's creepy.'

'You don't approve?' Eirn replied, raising her brow.

'I dunno,' Vette replied, slightly absent-mindedly. 'You never had to train with Taalz, right?'

'No,' Eirn replied, 'I trained with Sith. And believe me,' she added, 'They were much worse than Broonmark.'

'Right,' Vette said - keeping _most_ of the dramatic disbelief out of her tone.

Vette was saved from further interrogation by Jaesa's father entering the room - glancing over its occupants worriedly, before offering Eirn a small bow.

'My lord. Please excuse the interruption...'

The Willsaams were nothing if not eager to please; Eirn had never managed to quite set either of Jaesa's parents at ease, and wasn't entirely certain how to. They both, she supposed, had lived their lives in fear of the Empire, and of the Sith, as well as in servitude to their noble family. A less than ideal combination, given their current situation, but that didn't stop Eirn from trying - albeit sometimes slightly clumsily.

(Eirn wondered, sometimes, if they thought themselves hostage to Jaesa's good behaviour; if Jaesa wondered the same thing, despite her ability to peel away all of Eirn's deceptions if she'd pleased to. Eirn would also wonder sometimes, at that, if she should have; if her softnesses weren't just more weak points waiting to be exploited, and if she shouldn't have long ago gotten there first)

'It's fine,' Eirn started, though - 'What is it?'

'There's a messenger at the door, my lord, asking for you in person. From the Sphere of Technology...?'

_Tagriss_.

'Please tell them I'll be there momentarily,' Eirn replied, standing immediately - downing the last of her caf, and adding, 'Malavai, contact the ship. I want us ready to launch ASAP. Vette-'

' _What!_ ' Vette protested, before she could even finish.

'Ping Broonmark and Jaesa,' Eirn continued, barrelling over the protest, 'Get your things together, and head out to the spaceport.' 

At least Jaesa, she suspected, would probably be glad for the abrupt change in plans.

'My lord,' Malavai began, 'Are you certain that going alone is wise?'

He was worried - Eirn couldn't help but be touched by his concern, even as she deemed it unwarranted. 'I can handle Acina,' she replied, smiling a little nonetheless. 'I'll be fine,' she added, planting a kiss on his lips before he could protest again. 'Make our preparations for departure. I want to be ready to leave as soon as possible.' 

He didn't look convinced, but nodded, all the same. 'Of course, my lord.'

'I'll be fine,' she repeated, and she wasn't sure which one of them she was trying to convince, 'I promise.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I think about updating with shorter chapters more frequently. Then I laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.


	12. Aggression

*

_Of course it was Belsavis._

To say Eirnhaya disliked the planet was an understatement; not just it, but all that ever seemed to accompany it. _Them_ \- their fanatics, their followers, their loyal servants, their toys and trinkets. A part of her kept half-expecting _Them_ to show back up in person - and every time that thought crossed her mind, her stomach tied itself in fresh knots.

( _we will meet again-_ )

'Do we actually have coordinates for this outpost, or am I supposed to go knocking door to door?'

The look Acina gave her could have killed lesser Sith; Eirn had realised as she'd said the words their impropriety, but her nerves and nervousness were eating up her ability to care.

'Save your hostility for the Dread Host, Wrath. Here are the coordinates, along with all available intelligence. It's not much, I'm afraid, but it'll have to do.'

_Not much_ was an understatement; glancing over the information on her datapad, Eirn had seen more comprehensive briefings from the mad hermits that frequented Korriban's ruins.

'Your informant has been uncooperative?' she said - asked, looking back up at Acina.

'Terminally so,' Acina replied, visibly irritated. 'If you were able to take another of Tagriss's followers intact, I would be much obliged. Or the man himself, of course,' she added, though she sounded a little dubious at her addendum. 'Though in that case, his head would be just as welcome.'

'I can try, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied - 'But I should warn you,' she added, 'Even if I manage to take one alive, the Dread Host do tend to be-'

'Mad,' Acina interrupted, 'I _know_ , Wrath,' she snapped, glaring pointedly.

'What about your Republic spy?' Eirn added - much as she knew Acina would be loathe to discuss it. 'Have you-?'

'That's not relevant to the case at hand, Wrath,' Acina replied, extremely sharply.

_So that's a 'no', then._

'It's relevant to the case at hand, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, 'As I've already crossed paths with one Jedi who shouldn't have existed, and would prefer not to have to delay myself with another.'

'Then you should probably not tarry, Wrath. Belsavis is in _Republic_ space, after all.'

-

Her crew had assembled promptly, at the very least; Broonmark wasn't happy at having an excursion into the jungles cut short, but if the look that Jaesa gave Eirn was any indication, he was the only one who felt that way. Briefing them, once they were underway, was as much keeping herself busy as it was sharing what little information she'd been provided, though; Eirn knew that, given opportunity, she'd have stewed alone in unpleasant thoughts for the entire trip, and that had never been once proven a useful course of action.

'My lord,' Malavai asked - had to ask, even as she would much rather that he didn't, 'Have you considered the possibility that we are walking into a trap?'

'I have,' Eirn replied, entirely truthfully. If it was a trap on the part of the Host's, it would have required a sort of planning that even Baras would have admired; if it was on the part of Acina's, then it was every inch as needless as one of Baras's, too.

( _though if she's just as compromised as Tagriss,_ Eirn's paranoia unhelpfully mused, _then she'd still have to keep up appearances. and you've already made yourself an enemy of Theirs..._ )

'But a lead is a lead,' she added, 'Trap, or not.' Besides which, this would hardly be the first time she'd blundered headfirst into a trap, obvious or otherwise.

'What's up with all the hanging around in tombs, anyway?' Vette, as always, was full of unhelpful questions. 'Is this a Sith thing, or a creeper thing?'

'It is likely a _pragmatic_ 'thing', Vette,' Malavai replied, shooting her a dark look. 'The Vaults which Darth Acina's traitor pinpointed are close to those originally inhabited by the Dread Masters. It is likely they are attempting to locate other prisoners or artefacts kept there by the Republic.'

Vette, though, just pulled a face to that, adding, 'They're not gonna be around too, are they?'

The idea that they might be had lodged itself into Eirn's brain during her trip out to the spaceport; being alone in a shuttle with only Acina's intel for company had not been particularly conducive to rational thought. Vette's question, innocent or otherwise, didn't just resurrect those thoughts but found a new home for them in her throat, where they made a valiant attempt at silently choking her.

'Nothing in the intelligence we were provided by Darth Acina suggests as much. I calculate a much higher risk of _Jedi_ interference,' Malavai replied, entirely smoothly. 

(He was sat next to her, taking lead on this as much as she did; he reached across, under the table, taking one of her hands in his - and all that gesture made her want to do was curl up into a small, defenceless, ball)

'If there are Jedi,' Jaesa replied, equally smoothly, 'Then they would be foolish to try to interfere.' Her demeanour was as self-assured as ever, but Eirn knew better than to believe that. Jaesa had never been entirely at peace with standing in opposition to her former Order, even ignoring Sith philosophical positions on the notion of _peace_.

'Jedi are nothing if not foolish,' Eirn mused - grasping for if not the thread of the conversation, then at least command of it. 'But also not my primary concern. If the Republic try to interfere, they die. The Dread Host _will_ be there,' she added, 'As may Tagriss himself, so be prepared.'

'No offence, m'lord,' Pierce said, speaking up, 'But Sith bleed, just like the rest of us. And he won't be on home turf this time.'

(Eirn pretended not to see the irritated glower Malavai threw Pierce's way; Pierce, by contrast, didn't so much ignore it as smirk, knowing that he'd struck a nerve)

'Precisely,' Eirn replied, though. 'Lieutenant,' she added, 'You said you'd been studying the Vault schematics?'

Pierce nodded. 'Took the liberty of digging through the files Darth Acina sent over. Managed to use your name to get some of the original schematics from when we first blew the prison open, too. They've holed up nicely in one of the unbreached Vaults, but some well-placed detonite'll fix that. The whole place is a rat warren, but it's one _we_ got the map for.'

'So, what?' Vette again, mistress of obvious questions. 'We're just gonna blow off the door and march in?'

_'You_ will be keeping an eye on the ship _,'_ Eirn replied - which Vette responded to with a whine. 'Unless you've been upgrading Twovee's combat readiness without my permission,' she added, prompting another grumble from the Twi'lek.

'So, can I? Upgrade the droid,' Vette replied, grabbing that loophole with both hands. 'Maybe I'll give him a sniper rifle...' she adding, miming using one - badly.

' _No_ , Vette,' Eirn replied, sighing.

'Most of the problem is the chassis. Upgrade that to something a bit more durable, add in a few combat routines...' Pierce was not the usual other half of Vette's double-act, and at almost any other time Eirn might even have taken his suggestion under consideration, but this was really neither the time or place.

('Lieutenant...' Malavai started, visibly annoyed; Pierce fell silent, but never once stopped smirking)

'Unless anyone has something sensible to add,' Eirn just managed, sighing, 'You are all dismissed. And _nobody_ is to mess with the droid.'

-

Nothing about Belsavis made her feel at ease; not its clear blue skies, not gentle snowfall over the silent tundra, not the exotic blossoms that nestled at the base of ancient trees. Once, she'd thought it might have been beautiful, if the Republic had not ruined it; now, all the planet inspired in her was shame and nausea.

The Empire's presence on Belsavis had not improved, in the time since her last journeys there; if anything, the ongoing war meant more and more resources were being diverted away from this place, into battles that might actually stand some chance of success. Their main objectives had been achieved here, after all; there were likely still Imperial prisoners, yes, but the Sith who the had been the focus of their primary efforts were long gone, in all but the most final of senses.

That didn't mean that the Empire had turned its eye away from this place completely, though; there _were_ still Imperial prisoners, and the ongoing rioting and the problems it caused the Republic in turn were reason enough to remain invested. When Eirnhaya spotted a familiar face at the Imperial landing zone, though, she was certain that it wasn't the _modern_ prison that had brought him there.

'Darth Orsus,' she mused, casting a wary, critical eye over him. 'You're aware this is Republic space, yes?'

Orsus, like all in the Empire, claimed Sith ancestry - though all he had to show for it was sharp features and ruddy skin. Even those were mostly hidden, though - buried beneath imposing armour, or held together with cybernetics and prosthetics that he'd upgraded over the years, but which had never fed into any illusion of strength he tried to project.

'Little Illte,' he replied, chuckling darkly to himself. 'I am well aware, child, and well armed.'

'It's _Lord_ Illte,' she corrected him, irritated, 'and you know it.'

Orsus just laughed at that - a deep, almost mechanical noise that never failed to grate on Eirn's ears. 'You finally learned how to fight, little Illte?'

'No thanks to you,' Eirn replied, more than a little dourly. Orsus had given her much in the way of something to hate, but precious little useful instruction. 'Draw your saber,' she added, already reaching for hers, 'And I'll show you.'

'As spirited as ever, little Illte,' Orsus just replied, smirking - laughing, again, as she lit her saber. She knew exactly what he found so funny, too; her crystal, defiantly white-purple - a stubborn refusal to be entirely what the Sith demanded of her, though it was more than that, and he _must_ have known.

Eirn just levelled her saber at him, holding his gaze and refusing to back down. ' _Lord_ Illte,' she replied, correcting him again, 'And put up or shut up.'

He did, at that; drew and lit his own saber, its pale crimson blade everything she should have aspired to and everything she rejected. 

His blows were wide, and deliberate - heavy, deadly things that fell like rocks down a mountainside, and Eirn knew better than to try and deflect them. Instead, she moved - water around rocks, baiting out his blows before disappearing out from underneath them, never connecting their sabers except to poke at his defences. His blade deflected hers, and she allowed it to, their sabers hissing as they clashed - as she tried to gauge what the years had taken from him, and what - if anything - he'd gained.

'Stop dancing, little Illte,' Orsus rumbled, pacing slowly - circling, slowly, keeping her at saber's length, 'and _fight_ me.'

(They had an audience; Eirn was acutely aware that her crew had disembarked the Orbital shuttle, but there were others, too - Imperial soldiers who hadn't yet learned not to stare at sparring Sith, Republic prisoners who were entertained by any kind of fight)

'Start keeping up with me, old man,' Eirn retorted, 'and I'll think about it.'

She took the offensive, at that - pressed the attack, poking at holes in his technique that he hadn't closed in decades, never managing to land a hit but putting him further on the defensive all the same. He responded in kind, pushing her harder - his strikes just as measured and deliberate but faster and harder than they'd been before. He struck more directly, too - had been gauging her just as much, she belatedly realised, working out how fast she danced and then striking faster, forcing her to deflect and catch his saber. He didn't relent, either - didn't pull back when she blocked him, but pressed into her, forcing her to push back with everything she had and chuckling to himself when she couldn't hold her ground, his blade pressed ever closer to _her_.

Eirn, though, just smirked - and deactivated her saber, the sudden lack of resistance sending Orsus stumbling forwards. He recovered quickly, turning back on to her as she ducked away. Eirn had already moved, though - had her saber lit, and was moving to strike his exposed rear. He turned himself, at that, closing his defence and hurling at her with the Force, sending her skidding backwards. By the time she righted herself he was on the offensive again, leaping at her to close the gap, cornering and striking at her - forcing her to catch his saber with hers again. Their sabers hissed, and Eirn snarled, digging in her heels and pushing back against the older Sith with everything she had. 

'Still so stubborn, little Illte,' Orsus mused, chuckling to himself.

Eirn just growled, refusing to dignify his taunt with a response. Instead she focused \- dredged up every insult, every contemptuous sneer, every judgemental glare and, with them, pushing him away from her, breaking his attack. She kept up hers, too - leaping in, saber out, and sharply arrested when he caught her saber arm in the Force, dangling her by it unceremoniously. Eirn snarled in annoyed frustration - and before he could take advantage of the obvious target, dropped her saber into her offhand, catching and then hurling it at him, guided with the Force. He deflected the blow, but broke his focus on her for long enough that she could break free of his hold - landing sharply on the ground, but hardly gracelessly, catching her saber hilt in her main hand and keeping it levelled at him, at that.

'Well played, little Illte,' he added - circling her, ignoring their gathering audience - for now. 'Though your flank is still far too open. Mark my words, that will be the death of you, one day.'

'That's _Lord_ Illte,' Eirn snapped, 'And if you think you can take my flank, you're welcome to try. I should warn you, though,' she added, 'Better Sith than you have perished in the attempt.'

Whatever response Orsus had to that was interrupted by the arrival of a tall, willowy Sith, dressed in padded armour and who gave Eirn only the tiniest of glances before focusing her attention on Orsus.

'Master. Please excuse the interruption, but Lord Nox is requesting our presence at the dig site.'

' _Mother_ ,' Eirn managed, exasperated - of course _she_ was here, too. 

'Eir,' her mother replied, smiling tightly. 'I wasn't expecting to see you here. What a pleasant surprise.'

Her mother - like her, unlike Darth Orsus - was Red Sith; her mother, unlike her, had more than just the skin to prove it, too. She had long, slender browstalks that bobbed and twitched as she spoke, and delicate cheek tendrils that, unlike Eirn's stubby, stumpy growths, pulled away from her jawline to neatly frame her face. She kept her dark hair long, too, unlike Eirn (at least, unlike Eirn did, any more) - though currently it was pulled into a tight bun, a concession - Eirn could only assume - to the realities of field work.

Darth Orsus, naturally, just smiled, his cybernetics shifting as his facial muscles moved in a way that never failed to make Eirn's skin crawl. He finally cast his eye over Eirn's crew, at that - as though he hadn't noticed them until now, despite .

'Well, little Illte?' he said, returning his imperious gaze to Eirn. 'Where are your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us?'

_Emperor, wherever you are, I beg of you. Save me._

Eirn would rather have left entirely, but the situation was beyond salvaging. The best she felt capable of hoping for, at this late stage, was that some kind of spontaneous combustion, or possibly a rogue meteor.

'Darth Orsus, Mother. May I present my apprentice,' she said, attempting not to grit her teeth, 'Jaesa Willsaam,' ('My lords,' Jaesa said, offering a bow, 'It's an honour,'), 'Lieutenant Pierce, my ordnance officer,' ('M'lords,' Pierce rumbled - only as deferential as he had to be,) 'And my... Captain, Malavai Quinn.' ('My lords,' he said, offering a bow almost as deferential as Jaesa's). Broonmark was conspicuous in his absence, and not for the first time, Eirn wondered briefly about fitting him with some kind of subcutaneous tracker, though it was not a thought that lingered.

'Everybody,' she added, trying not to sigh irritably, and almost succeeding, 'This is my mother, Lord Aetrexis Illte, and her Master, Darth Orsus.'

'An apprentice of your very own, little Illte,' Orsus mused, with something Eirn could only pin down as amused pride. 'How you've grown.'

' _Lord_ Illte,' Eirn corrected irritably.

'Girl,' Orsus replied sharply, 'I knew you when you were still a twinkle in your mother's eye. Don't put on airs around me.'

Eirn seethed, but said nothing further - just crossed her arms defiantly, glaring at the older Sith. He'd always enjoyed cutting her down to size, even when she'd been a child; nothing she'd ever done or been had ever been good enough. It was a common enough trait in Sith teachers, but that he continued to think poorly of her while using her status to talk himself up was a hypocrisy that grated.

'Aetrexis,' Orsus added, still sharply - grabbing her mother's attention, 'Please inform Lord Nox we will be joining her shortly.'

'Of course, Master,' her mother replied, offering Orsus the slightest of bows. 'Lovely to meet you, all,' she added, flashing Eirn's companions a grin.

('Later, Eir,' she added quietly, before she left; Eirn made no reply, biting her tongue in an effort to stop herself saying something in public that she'd regret later)

'A pleasure,' Orsus added, 'As always, little Illte. May the Force continue to serve you well, child.'

-

Eirn had been nearly five years old when she'd met her mother's Master for the first time. He'd demanded it, apparently, though her memories were hazy - lost in time and irrelevance. She did remember the formal, itchy dress robes her mother had made her wear, though, and the icecream they'd had afterwards in the park. They'd gone to Orsus's offices - a set of chambers he kept several blocks from their small apartment; Eirn had spent the whole day hating the robes, and not understanding why her _mother_ was so nervous.

'So, this is the little girl who's been demanding so much of my apprentice's time.'

There might have been an emotionless smile in there somewhere, but nearly-five-year-old Eirn had no idea and twenty-five-year-old Eirn was no wiser. Orsus was tall - impossibly tall, in her memories - and like so many Sith, had been forced to rely on technology to keep him alive as abuses of the Force -and of other Sith - wore on his body. He wore a mask that covered much of the lower half of his face, and which rasped with every breath; like all Sith of his station, he draped himself in imposing robes, but even nearly-five-year-old Eirn could pick out the prosthetics that held one hand together, and notice his reluctance to stand to greet his guests.

'It's an honour to meet you, my Lord.' A phrase that her mother had made her repeat until it was perfect, accompanied by a stiff bow that the young Sith was still not entirely convinced was her place to make.

'And with such good manners, too,' Orsus said, approving. 'Come here, child. Let me get a better look at you.'

Eirn looked back to her mother, not sure what to do; her mother just gave a small nod, and a smaller smile - gently ushering her daughter forward. 'It's alright, Eir.'

Even then, Eirn could tell she was being judged - that Orsus was important, and that his opinion of her was even more important. She took a step forward, though, reassured by her mother, and approached the other, older, Sith.

Orsus looked her up and down in a way that nearly-five-year-old Eirn didn't like, even if she didn't know why. It was the same sort of look she saw other Sith giving humans - and aliens, for that matter. She was being judged - appraised, not that this was a word in nearly-five-year-old Eirn's vocabulary.

What she _did_ know was that Orsus didn't like what he'd seen. 

'A pity,' he said \- gently lifting Eirn's chin, just for a moment, and inspecting her disdainfully, 'She seems to have inherited much from her father.'

(His prosthetic fingers were too cold against her skin, and she flinched at their touch; she didn't pull away, but hated every moment he was touching her, all the same)

'With respect, my Lord,' her mother replied, 'She's only four years old. She's a lot of growing to do, yet...'

'Four and a half,' Eirn corrected, a mixture of pride and defiance in her voice. Darth Orsus chuckled at that, though Eirn didn't understand why it was funny.

'She's certainly got your fire, Aetrexis.' Orsus kept looking at her, but Eirn could tell when he was talking to her mother. She hated it when adults did that. 'I was rather hoping she might have inherited some of your better qualities, too.'

(He released her chin, at that; even nearly-five-year-old Eirn had too much pride to bolt to her mother's side, but she did step back from Orsus sharply - did not feel secure until her hand was in her mother's, and even then, her mother's own nervousness did nothing to abate hers)

'That remains to be seen, my Lord.'

-

She wasn't four-and-a-half any more, though - she was twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, and still felt just as small and vulnerable in his wake as she had back then.

_Pathetic_ , she muttered, mostly to herself.

-

At least Nox's demands meant Orsus and her mother were easy enough to shake off, even if Eirn was certain this wouldn't be the last she would see of any of them. She could already picture the imperious message she would get from her mother, later - bemoaning her manners, her infrequent contact, her saber crystal. The irritation at that thought alone was enough to make her seethe, quietly,

Heading deep into the Rakatan ruins- in pursuit, once more, of _Them_ , or at the very least, _Their_ adherents - was far from helpful. Eirn could feel an unpleasant nervous tension building in her that had neither purpose nor rational basis, but which served to try and throttle her all the same. That her mood was plainly obvious to her crew didn't help much, either - the worried glances from Jaesa when the younger woman thought she wouldn't see them, the equally concerned looks from her Captain when he suspected she was distracted.

The nearest Imperial depot to Acina's coordinates - the appropriately named _Remote Post_ \- was entirely staffed by droids, not that this came as any surprise. Droids cost less than people, and could be abused somewhat more - and things on Belsavis did tend to end up abused. 

Eirn and her crew weren't the only ones setting off elsewhere from this outpost, though - much to Eirn's wary concern. Darth Nox was perched on top of a pile of equipment crates, engrossed by something on her datapad, and Eirn was content to leave her there. There were a million reasons why she didn't want to get sucked into whatever the tiny Councillor was up to; the Zabrak's Dashade, who attempted to menace Jaesa and ended up moments away from a scrap with Broonmark as a result, was one of them. This, though, naturally attracted Nox's attention - almost the last thing Eirn wanted, especially when the Councillor hopped down from her crates and made a beeline for _her_.

'O, Mighty Wrath,' Nox purred, 'I heard the most interesting rumour about you the other day.'

Eirn just paused, at that - eyeing Nox extremely warily. Exactly nothing about this boded well \- not that this was much of a change from anything else on this benighted rock. 'You did, Dark Lord?'

(At least, she tried to tell herself, Orsus and her mother were nowhere to be seen - for now)

'I did,' Nox replied, smiling inscrutably to herself. 'A little songbird told me that you were allowed the tiniest of peeks behind our technologist's voluminous skirts.'

Eirn wasn't certain which part of this was most concerning; that her trip to Arcanum was knowledge to anyone outside of Acina's Sphere, that Acina's skirts could apparently be considered voluminous - or the way Nox had sidled up to her, imposing on Eirn's personal space in a way that, ordinarily, only her lover was allowed to.

'I'm afraid I can neither confirm nor deny that, Dark Lord,' she replied, defensively crossing her arms - not least because she wasn't entirely certain what it was Nox meant, and didn't want to end up the subject of further interesting rumours.

'Not even the ittiest little hint?' Nox asked, almost pouting.

'Not even that, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied warily. 'Darth Acina serves the Emperor, as do I,' she added - rather pointedly. Eirn might not have carried much authority herself, but Acina was a Council member, too - acting contrary to one, especially one favoured by the Emperor, would be- well, not out of the realm of possibility, but it would certainly be unwise.

For a moment, Eirn was worried that Nox might object anyway - but the tiny Zabrak just sighed dramatically. 'Have it your way, boring Wrath,' she said, making a show of waving dismissively at Eirnhaya - not just stepping back but almost walking away entirely.

As insults went, 'boring' had to be one of the most pedestrian she'd ever received, and Eirn couldn't help but be mildly amused. 'Should the Emperor decide to allow it, Dark Lord,' she replied, 'I will dispel as many rumours as you please.'

'I will hold you to that promise, boring Wrath,' Nox purred, and Eirn couldn't tell if the Zabrak was being serious or not.

'Go,' Nox added, after a moment, 'Shoo. The Emperor demands your labour, does he not?'

'That he does, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, mildly bemused by the entire conversation.

Nox yawned, rather pointedly; Eirn took that as her cue, and - after bowing - left.


	13. Ingression

The Dread Host were almost a welcome thought, after that; arguably mad cultists she could stab without feeling particularly guilty about it - not to mention not having to worry about the repercussions. If it emerged that Tagriss was indeed here, then all the better - she could hand his head off to Darth Acina, and then take a nice long vacation anywhere that wasn't here. Coruscant, perhaps. Or maybe Tython.

It was quickly made apparent that they weren't the only ones on this particular quest, however - or the only ones with a plan that had involved explosives, the that matter. The Vault that Acina's captive had nominated was not only open, but had been _blown_ open; the attendant fires no longer burned, but there was still the sharp smell of detonite in the air.

'This damage is new. Whoever blew this open is probably still in there.' Pierce, of course was immediately inspecting the damage - assessing it, and apparently finding it wanting. 'Amateur job,' he added, his tone full of disapproval. 'Whoever set these charges is lucky they didn't bring the roof down, too.'

'< _Other hunters chase this prey._ >' Broonmark didn't approve either, though of what, Eirn was never quite certain.

'So I gathered,' Eirn muttered, glancing over the rubble - moving one of the smaller chunks aside with a boot, as she approached the vault. Gend's newest lackeys, presumably - a testament to the leakiness of Acina's sphere. 

'I can sense them,' Jaesa murmured, glancing at Eirn - before adding, 'I suppose you can, as well, Master?'

A presence - no, _two_ presences. One bright - fiery, like the one on Corellia, righteous and self-righteous; the other- calmer, _lighter_ , but no less bright.

_Jedi_.

'At least,' Eirn said, stepping over the rubble and starting to make her way inside. 'They're not trying to hide. Be on your guard.'

The forward sections of the vault had apparently already been the scene of a recent fight; there were scorchmarks from a lightsaber in the stonework, as well as blaster burns that looked fairly new. They'd left corpses behind, too - one of the Dread Host, slumped gracelessly against the wall, with his arms - and his rifle - at the other side of the dimly lit vault corridor. Another had been cut in two, neatly bisected with a lightsaber (had tried to pull themselves away, bleeding a little from a partially cauterised wound, before finally being finished off); a third was just slumped in a graceless heap, and would have almost seemed asleep, were it not for the unnatural angle their head lolled at.

Finding the Jedi wasn't hard - or getting their attention, for that matter. They were both women; the bright, fiery presence was another Mirialan, who was disdainfully kicking a rapidly cooling corpse with her boot. Her companion, the stiller presence, was a dark-skinned human; dressed in the same drab robes all good Jedi wore, holding a polesaber that she didn't holster - but which she didn't light, either.

'And the Sith finally appears,' the Mirialan said, turning to face Eirn - glancing her and her crew over with disdain. 'I was hoping you might show.'

'Awenyth...' the other Jedi started - cautioning her, as much as the Mirialan ignored her.

'You must be Gend's newest fools,' Eirn replied, glancing over the pair of them. There were no rancors here - and no defenceless padawans, either. There were, though, a few dead members of the Host - and a selection of crates and cartons with markings identifying them as from Arcanum, along with sarcophagi propped awkwardly against the walls that even Eirn could tell were not Rakatan. All looted from Arcanum, presumably - though what the Host hoped to achieve by bringing them here was beyond her.

'You're- Master Kyo,' Jaesa added, after a moment - hesitating a little at the words, but not in reaching for her own saber. 'I remember you from Tython.'

'And you are Jaesa Willsaam,' Kyo - the human Jedi - replied, 'Nomen Karr's padawan.' Her eyes flicked back to Eirn, at that. 'Which makes you-'

Awenyth got there first, with a snort and a laugh. ' _You're_ the new Wrath?'

('Strange,' Kyo murmured, 'I don't sense the darkness in her that he had...')

'Well, that saves introductions,' Eirn replied, rather dryly. She didn't like how well known she apparently was among the Jedi, but that was a concern which would have to wait. 'Now that's out the way,' she added, 'You get your one and only chance to stand down and leave. This is _Imperial_ business.'

Awenyth just laughed again - an ugly, barking sound. 'A Wrath with a sense of humour. Killing you seems almost a waste.' She drew and lit her own sabers at that, too - two of them, with bright green blades.

(' _Awenyth!_ ' Kyo hissed - and was ignored, again)

'Look around you, Jedi,' Eirn said, ignoring the barb. 'You're outnumbered.'

'Sith,' Kyo added, sighing- before amending, 'Lord Wrath, please. You want to put down your saber. You want to settle this peacefully.'

It was impossible not to feel the Jedi's suggestion in the Force; not to hear what a good idea complying with her was, not to at least consider for an iota of a split second the possibility of settling this without spilling Jedi blood.

All Eirn did, though, was laugh. 'You must be either very stupid, Jedi,' she replied, 'Or very desperate. Which is it?'

'Neither,' Kyo replied, apparently undeterred. 'Our enemy here is the Dread Host, not you. You have shown before that you are willing to be reasonable in the face of a mutual enemy.'

'Not when there are Imperial interests at stake,' Eirn replied flatly. Timmns had been an exception, for so many reasons; not a regret, necessarily, but something this Jedi apparently didn't understand all the same.

(It annoyed her that she was not just _known_ , but known to be- 'reasonable'? Open to offers of treachery? Were these Jedi _trying_ to insult her? (was she really that treasonous...?))

'Sith,' Awenyth sneered, 'Are incapable of reason, _Master Kyo_.' 

'If I was truly unreasonable, Jedi,' Eirn snarled, 'I wouldn't have offered you the chance to walk away.'

Awenyth didn't respond to that verbally - just snorted, before throwing one of her sabers at her. Eirn had moved to intercept it before it had even left her hand, though - had her own saber out, deflecting the blow before it hit, and leaping onto the Jedi to press the attack. Awenyth countered immediately, dodging and circling, deflecting blaster bolts with one saber and Eirn's blows with the other, forced onto the back foot by the Sith. She seemed to relish it, though - laughing wildly as Eirn struck at her. The laugh abruptly became a gurgle, though, when Eirn reached out with the Force - threw her wildly back out of saber range, before abruptly grabbing the Jedi's throat with the Force, drawing on her anger and fear and hatred and dangling the Jedi by all of them in the air.

Broonmark, who until now had been harassing Kyo along with Jaesa, immediately switched his attention from the free Jedi to the one suspended by her throat - the easy kill, comparatively, moving to swipe at her with his vibroblade. Awenyth tried to take a defensive swing at him, despite Eirn's grasp on her, but it went wide - _extremely_ wide, before she finally dropped her sabers altogether, focusing her attention back on attempting to push back against Eirn's chokehold. 

Kyo had immediately reacted to Broonmark, too - placed herself between the Talz and her fellow Jedi, abruptly hurling Broonmark across the room, where he hit a stack of the stolen crates hard enough to crack one and topple the rest. That just left her with Jaesa, who had lit her own saber - who, to Eirn's surprise, hadn't so much as blinked when moving to engage the Jedi. Kyo kept herself between Jaesa and Awenyth, all the while attempting to fend off incoming blaster fire from Pierce, who had taken up a defensive position while Malavai attempted to check on Broonmark.

'Padawan-' Kyo started, looking to Jaesa - trying, Eirn could only assume to appeal to her.

'I am _not_ ,' Jaesa evenly replied, interrupting her, 'A padawan. Not any more.'

Eirn had to smile a little at that, even if her most of her focus remained on the dangling Mirialan. Awenyth was still struggling against the choke - _resisting_ it, pushing back against Eirn with her on sheer determination, and it was taking all of Eirn's own focus just to hold the Jedi in place. 

'Sith,' Kyo amended, her expression troubled - her focus torn between Jaesa, who was pressing her attacks, and Eirn, who was still struggling to hold Awenyth in place, 'Please. This isn't necessary.'

'You had your chance to walk away, Jedi,' Eirn replied, entirely evenly - _too_ evenly, especially by her own standards.

(It didn't help that something was scratching at the inside of her skull; that the Force was humming with caution that had nothing to do with Jedi, setting her ever further on edge)

'Sith trickery,' Awenyth retorted - hissed, her voice cracking under Eirn's grasp, 'Knows no limits, and no honour.'

There was, apparently, no reasoning with this Jedi, and Eirn grabbed at her irritation - at her wounded pride, at whatever the name for that emotion was when the human had all but called her a traitor, and fed them into the choke, watching with satisfaction as the dangling Jedi struggled against her - dropped her other saber, too, as her throat constricted, her face slowly darkening as she fought a losing battle of wills.

'Lord Wrath, _please_!' Kyo started, again - not losing ground to Jaesa, but not gaining any, either, especially as she had to fend off blaster fire as well. 'We don't-!' she started to protest, before being cut short.

Both Jedi were abruptly tossed across the room by some unseen assailant - Kyo crashing away from Jaesa, who stumbled as her opponent was thrown off balance, and Awenyth sent flying into Eirn, who in turn staggered backwards under the Jedi; who tripped, ending up in a graceless, winded heap, under an equally graceless, winded, woozy Jedi. Awenyth, for her part, just flopped unceremoniously against Eirn like a marionette with her strings cut - gasping desperately at the air, Eirn's focus on holding her throat closed well and truly shattered.

Eirn just pushed the Jedi off her - tried to struggle to see what had hit the Jedi, and ended up just rolling sharply out of the way as the Force screamed at her to move. The air where she'd been crackled unpleasantly, in the next instant - warped and blackened, folding in on itself before finally popping back into shape. Eirn, though, had continued moving - staggered to her feet, tugging at her saber with her mind and lighting it the moment it was back in her hand.

(Kyo had lost all interest in the Sith, in that moment - had stumbled after her fellow Jedi, trying to rouse the woman and, for now, getting nowhere, though Eirn was content to let them fall out of focus)

The source of the attack was one of the Dread Host - a human man, not Tagriss but some other sop, clutching a staff that Eirn recognised immediately as the one Tagriss had taken from Arcanum. Its power still swirled around the guardsman - still _reeked_ and stung and sang, entrancing and enticing and utterly repulsive - but this man apparently lacked Tagriss's will. His face was slack, his mouth half open and drooling when he was not attempting speech - the rest of him twitching unnaturally as his body was puppeted by energies that were apparently unfamiliar with humanoid form.

(Jaesa seemed to recognise the staff, too; was smart enough to see where the real threat lay, turning her focus from the Jedi to the guardsman. Broonmark had stuck on the Jedi, tackling Kyo as she attempted to tend to the other Jedi - an unwelcome distraction, for certain)

{ _PATHETIC_ _SITH_ }, the guard-staff-thing intoned - rounding on Eirn, at that, apparently considering _her_ the greatest threat there. He - it? - paused, facing her - facing her saber, which she held defensively in front of her. She remembered all too well how unpleasantly unnatural the energies that Tagriss had thrown around had felt - how painfully surreal the whole fight had been.

Eirn was almost prepared, this time, though; when the guard-thing hurled a ball of those foul energies at her, she caught it on her saber, almost like she would anything other energy hurled at her with the Force, and moved to throw it - somewhere, anywhere (at the Jedi, at _him_ ). She wasn't prepared for the way her saber sparked at the power that it had caught, though - the way its blade flickered, before shorting out entirely, the hilt of her saber overloading in a flash of white-black-purple energies that sent a bolt of something distinctly unpleasant crawling up her arm, dragging at every nerve on its way up. Her arm itself felt like it was on fire - like it was being crushed, like there was something clawing at it from inside her skin, like her muscles were simultaneously lead and slime and rubber and raw electricity. 

Eirn staggered backwards, clutching at her arm - cradling it, barely aware of her saber clattering to the floor as she struggled to focus - struggled to push the energies that the guard-staff-thing had thrown at her out of her arm (to contain them, to control them, and failing miserably at all three). Her arm warped; the very space around it seemed to bend and twist as the staff's energies crawled around it, before finally earthing themselves into the stone.

The Force screamed at her - not just in warning but in _pain_ , as something unnatural clawed its way through it towards her, and she ducked away, as the guard staff thing hurled several more bolts of those energies at her in quick succession. They missed, to varying degrees - hitting the stone wall of the vault (warping it, for a moment) - hitting the crates and sarcophagi that were stacked behind her. One of them shattered, imploding as the warping energies of the staff crawled through and over it, chunks of stone and dust collapsing noisily in its wake. 

The Force continued to hum unpleasantly, though - dragging Eirn's attention to a more immediate threat than the possessed guardsman. There was- someone, or some _thing_ left in the wake of the collapsed sarcophagus - a _corpse_ , that was the only word for it, some ancient Sith reanimated by whatever it was the guardsman was tossing around and wielding a warblade that looked very old and very, _very_ sharp. The corpse clicked and ground as it moved, bone and dry muscle dragging against each other in the worst way as it turned its focus on the closest person \- on Eirn, moving to lunge at her with its warblade. Eirn staggered back, barely enough to avoid the corpse, which was almost _pulsing_ with the same foul energies that the staff was drawing on and producing all at once. It wasn't living, though - was still a dry and fragile thing, and Eirn reached out at it through the Force, pulling on her own pain and frustration and using it to crush the corpse-thing's neck. It staggered, for a moment - and then the neck snapped, ancient skin and sinew crumbling into nothing and vertebrae that were just as old separating for one final time. The corpse crumbled, its warblade clattering noisily as it hit the stone vault floor. In lieu of her missing, malfunctioning saber, Eirn ended up grabbing at the warblade - tugging at it, with the Force, and then when that failed to produce results, moving bodily - ducking as the guardsman fired another bolt of those unholy energies in her direction, and wincing as they missed her far too closely. 

She attempted to grab at the warblade with her saber hand - which was intact, at least, following her saber malfunction - and failed, her muscles spasming painfully and uselessly in its wake. Eirn ended up grabbing at it with her other hand, instead, lifting it slightly awkwardly - holding it uncomfortably, not even certain what she could _do_ against the guardsman, but feeling at least marginally better now that she was armed again. Her attention was all on that guardsman, too - who was focused on Jaesa, for the moment, who in turn was keeping the thing's attention, and out of its shots, though not by much.

' _Hey_ ,' Eirn called - augmenting her voice with the Force, doing her best to grab the thing's attention. ' _Over here, stupid_.' 

It worked, eventually \- the possessed guardsman lurching as it shifted its attention to her - away from her apprentice. { _ARROGANT SITH_ } the thing intoned - the guardsman, or- whatever it was, now, that voice scratching and stabbing at her ears, scraping at the inside of her brain and clawing at the space behind her eyes. 

Eirn just held the warblade up, as best she could in her offhand - held it defensively, not that she was certain it would do her much good. Attempting to deflect the foul energies the staff channelled was apparently fruitless, and Eirn hadn't forgotten what it felt like to take a direct hit, either; it was no surprise whatsoever that _Their_ servants had been interested in - or overestimated it.

'You call me arrogant,' she replied - attempted to retort - though, circling, slowly - holding the thing's attention, apparently, at least for now, 'But I'm not the one thralled to a stick.'

The guard-staff-thing laughed, at that (a deep sound - _too_ deep, that wasn't heard so much as felt, a rumble that echoed down her spine before knotting in the pit of her stomach). { _IGNORANT SITH_ }, it intoned - sneered, almost, though the guardsman's face was lost, twisted by whatever had hijacked his body. { _PERISH IN DARKNESS AND BEGONE._ }

It advanced on her, at that - spinning the staff lazily in one hand, feet unevenly placed one after another in uneven, jerky movements that spoke all the more to possession by something unused to human form. Jaesa took what seemed to be an opportunity, striking at it from behind - which it sensed, of course, and turned to counter. That same opportunity was taken by Eirn, who leapt at the guard-thing - struck at it from her side, plunging the warblade through the bubble of warped energies that surrounded it-

_-like drowning in fire, like breathing glass, like evaporating into nothing-_

-pushed through it, driving the warblade at the guard-staff-thing and not stopping until the blade began to warp in her hand, dripping between her fingers. She took that as her cue to let it go - let the staff's bubble finally push her backwards, away from the possessed guardsman. It did, too - violently, and she ended up thrown against and almost into the remains of the sarcophagus her stolen warblade had come from. Her armour broke her awkward fall, even as it sent a shock through her, and when she stumbled forward, attempting to right herself, she saw that Jaesa had been thrown away, too - that the warblade was jammed awkwardly through the guard-staff-thing's torso, that the staff was suspended in warping air as the energies that had been animating the guardsman pulled rapidly from it (as he screamed, his voice somewhere between a mortal tone and a something-far-outside-mortal scraping against her mental shields)-

-and it was gone, the air where it had been uncurling from where it had been twisted, the air springing back into shape - the guardsman, slack and bloody, collapsing in a motionless heap.

'....fuck,' Eirn just managed - breathed, eventually, making her way cautiously back across the vault and warily inspecting the guard-thing for any signs of life. 

There were none, though; his face was twisted, warped and half-melted by the darkness that had been animating him, but anything that might once have been mortal was long gone. She gave his body one last nudge with her boot, before standing - turning her attention, at that, to her crew. The only one she couldn't immediately account for was Pierce; Jaesa was picking herself up off the floor, and Broonmark was fending off the end of an attempt by Quinn to assess his injuries.

'< _The Dread-clan fights as an abomination, and still lies in ruin. We follow the Sith-clan proudly._ >' 

Broonmark was, in his own way, single-mindedly optimistic - an oddly admirable trait. Eirn, though, had other concerns.

'Lieutenant?' she asked, glance around the Vault - prodding the Force gently for answers, and finding his presence- nearby, at least. Myriad other things were slowly coming into focus, too, like the numb jitters in her saber arm - and she tugged at her saber with mind, at that, pulling it into her offhand and holstering it, rather than attempting to light it.

'Present, m'lord,' Pierce replied - reappearing from the Vault's entranceway. His armour had taken a few hits from blaster bolts - deflections from the Jedi, presumably, but that was the worst thing that could be said about his condition. 'Think the Jedi scarpered. Guess they realised they'd bitten off more than they could chew. Or they're gone for reinforcements,' he added, apparently not relishing that thought.

'In that case,' Eirn replied, slightly darkly, 'We should probably press on.'

-

There was no further notable resistance, which was a small blessing; a few guardsman, but they were normal, mortal humans, with nothing more unusual to their name than a misplaced loyalty to _Them_. Eirn had to admit she was rather relieved, given the numbness in her saber arm had not let up - had started to shift towards numb pain, even as she tried to massage the feeling back into it (even as she ignored the looks Malavai was giving her; as she attempted not to picture what things might be like beneath her armour, or what they might have been, had her saber actually _exploded_ ).

The deepest section of the Vault appeared to have been retrofitted into a field headquarters, of a sort; contained stacked databanks wired up to mobile generators, along with an inactive holo and a series of locked terminals. Not insurmountable obstacles, but irritating, all the same.

'And no sign of Tagriss,' Eirn mused, half to herself. 'Pity.'

'Their communications array may contain useful information. If these artefacts from Arcanum have been transferred recently,' Malavai started, thinking aloud, 'It seems reasonable to assume that they have had contact with Lord Tagriss.'

'Jaesa, get on the comms,' she replied, nodding, 'See if you can find anything useful. Lieutenant, Broonmark,' she added, 'Watch the entrance. I don't want to be taken by surprise.'

While Jaesa was occupied with the terminal, Eirn took a moment to remove the gauntlet from her saber hand - dreading a little what might be under there, if she was honest, and bracing herself for the worst. Her hand still felt numb, still twitched a little \- but there was no bruising, no bleeding, no crushed, swollen mess. It was not entirely unblemished - there was a pinker than normal tinge to her palm, an ugly blotch where she'd been holding her saber (where, she mused, the pain which had made her drop it had started) - but certainly not the mess that pain had initially threatened.

'Hold still, my lord. This should only take a moment...' Malavai had appeared at her side, of course; running the scanner over her arm, his focus on _that_ but his attention on _her_. 'Are you in any pain?'

'I don't-' Eirn started, attempting to protest, even as he powered over that objection.

('What's wrong?' Jaesa asked, glancing over at them; ' _Nothing_ ,' Eirn replied, exasperated - rapidly losing control of this situation, and hating every moment of it)

'No,' she added, slightly distracted by Jaesa's question. She'd seen the results of sabers overloading - and outright _exploding_ \- before now; if not in person, then in slightly gory images intended to press home to young Sith the importance of treating their sabers with care and respect. By comparison, she'd gotten off lightly; a faint burn on the surface of her palm, presumably - _possibly_? - from that flash of energy that had shorted out her saber - and that unpleasantly persistent numbness.

'Well,' he replied slowly, watching the scanner intently, 'you don't appear to have suffered any serious injury, my lord, though I would like to perform a thorough examination once we return to the ship. For now, you should try to avoid unnecessary strain.' He'd put the scanner to one side, by that point - applied a kolto spray, and a bandage that wasn't going to help her get the gauntlet back on. 'How does it feel?' he added - his attention, at that, on _her_.

_Like ice. Like rubber. Like electrified slime._

'Odd,' she just replied, noncommittally. Admitting to having a barely functioning saber arm in the middle of enemy territory was- well, it wasn't anything that sat well with her, even as she _knew_ that it would be plainly obvious to her crew that she was struggling.

Her musing to herself was interrupted, though, by Jaesa speaking up again. 'I think I've found something, Master. One of the guard was speaking to Tagriss shortly before the Jedi arrived. If I can just- there. Tracing call history...'

Most, if not all, of the technical jargon was well over Eirn's head; she was not ignorant, and hated appearing as such, but technology was not her forte. Vette had once attempted to teach her some basic slicing skills, with little success; Jaesa, by contrast, had apparently taken to it as though a natural.

'There,' Jaesa said, 'The call to Tagriss. Initial routing point was... Ilum orbital array.'

'Ilum.' Eirn had to admit that wasn't a planet she'd been expecting to see. It made sense, though; remote and, since Malgus's thorough sabotaging and destruction of the Imperial efforts there, an embarrassment that most tried to pretend didn't matter.

'I- I'll need to get Vette to help me out, but I might be able to backtrace it further,' Jaesa added, 'If we can get the original coordinates-'

'Do it,' Eirn replied, without a moment's hesitation. Ilum was the other side of the galaxy - a frigid, unfriendly world that she didn't feel inclined to comb over looking for signs of the Dread Host. 'And set up a secure link for Darth Acina's people.' An apology for the lack of heads for her collection, more than anything.

While Jaesa busied herself with that (with an excuse to holo Vette, as much as Eirn let that slide), Eirn had her own call to make - a couple of calls, actually, though she started with the one more unlikely to go her way.

'Major Rago. I do hope I'm not disturbing you.' Eirn hadn't been left with a particularly positive impression of Beslavis's interim commanding officer, though she also rather suspected it was a post that was given as a punishment, rather than any kind of reward.

'My lord,' he replied, frowning, even across the holo. 'How can I be of assistance?'

'I need to requisition a detachment to secure a captured enemy location. I am sending you coordinates,' she added, tapping at the datapad with her working hand, 'Of the outpost in question. This is of the highest priority.'

'And on whose authority are you making this requisition?' he replied, rather sharply - rather _too_ sharply, and Eirn had to wonder how long it had been since he'd encountered an ill-tempered Sith.

'The Emperor's,' she replied, irritably. 'Or if his won't suffice,' she added, 'Then Darth Acina of the Dark Council.'

It took the man several long moments to process what she'd said; when he did, his expression was the stuff Baras's dreams had been made of. 

'Lord Wrath! Please accept my utmost apologies, I had foolishly mistaken you for someone else. I will of course send my best detachment to your position immediately. If there is anything at all I can do to make up for th-'

'Just get them here as soon as possible,' Eirn replied; her tolerance for simpering was low on the best of days, and today was not the best of days. 'And make sure they're combat ready. We've already had two Jedi sniffing around.' And where there were two Jedi, she knew, there were certainly going to be more.

'Two-? Of course, my lord. Right away.'

He was the one who cut the call, but Eirn was rather grateful for it; it saved having to sit through excuses and polite farewells. Besides, she had another call to make.

-

'Dark Lord. My apologies for disturbing you, but I wanted to keep you up to date.'

'Wrath.' Acina didn't look - or sound - particularly enthused to hear from her, though this was a fairly normal state of affairs. 'Tell me you have a head for me.'

'Not yet, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, sighing a little to herself. Acina was taking this far too personally for comfort; she wondered if there was some connection here she was missing, or if Acina was having to put out other fires that Eirn was unaware of. 'We do have a lead, though, care of the Host stationed here. Once I'm finished up here, we will be heading out directly.'

'I see,' Acina replied, keeping her tone mostly neutral. 'I suppose it's too much to hope you managed to take any of them alive?'

'Unfortunately I did not, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, 'Though their databanks here are yours for the perusing. My people are securing you an uplink as we speak. They were also storing several artefacts here that seem to have been stolen from Arcanum. I've requested troops from Major Rago to secure the location, but I'm not certain he understands the urgency of the situation.'

'I see,' Acina replied - no less irritated, despite the sliver of good news. 'I shall have to speak to him myself, then. Keep me appraised of any further updates, Wrath.'

'Of course, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, along with a polite bow. Acina did not reply to that - just snorted, and cut the connection.

_As always_.


	14. Egression

Retiring to the _Pathcarver_ was a blessed relief, even if it _was_ to the sight of Vette pointedly browsing combat-ready droids on the holonet. Eirn immediately vetoed all suggestions and requests pertaining to droids, certain that Vette was only pursuing this to irritate her and more annoyed than anything that it seemed to be _working_. 

Even without a destination in mind, Eirn would have set off from Belsavis immediately; she made no secret of her hatred for the planet, even if she'd never illuminated most of her crew as to the reasons why, and it was remote and pointless enough a destination that nobody ever questioned it. Ilum, too, was at the opposite end of the galaxy - a remote ice ball that nobody in their right mind would care about, and a good number of hours away no matter what route they ended up taking.

(Eirn filed three separate flight plans, prior to their departure, and stuck to none of them; if there were spies, be they Republic or otherwise, she had no intention of making life easy for them)

-

She had a routine, and it served her well - make sure they were underway, and then duck into her quarters to shower and pull on fresh clothing. In the fresher, though - under that warm water - Eirn ended up staring at her arm for far too long, examining it for any sign, visible or otherwise, of lingering injury or energy. It still felt far too numb for comfort, a disconcerting almost-lack of feeling that extended up to just past her elbow (just past the place she'd grabbed with her other hand, instinctively trying to block and purge the attack); trying to move it or do anything with it was an exercise in clumsiness at best, though she tried to draw some comfort from the fact she could still move it. (Tried not to think about what might have happened, had she not tried to block the attack - had she been hit elsewhere, had the Jedi not decided to flee)

-

'Jaesa. Are you busy?'

Eirn found her apprentice easily - in the conference room, eating a pastry and reading something on her datapad. When Jaesa looked up at her, it was without a trace of irritation - though Eirn did pick up a flicker of guilty concern, which the other woman quickly squashed - or subsumed.

'No, Master. What do you need?'

Eirn had never quite gotten used to being addressed as _Master_ ; she was never quite certain if it was a hangover from Jaesa's Jedi days, or her attempt at being what she thought was expected of Sith. That she was barely older than Jaesa didn't help; the two of them would probably have been contemporaries on Korriban (or Tython, for that matter), had it not been for accidents of birth. 

For now, she just took a seat across from the other woman - not imposing on her space, but not leaving it, either.

'That Jedi, planetside. The one who knew you. Who was she?'

'Nisha Kyo,' Jaesa replied, after a long moment. 'She was one of my combat instructors, back on Tython. I... hadn't expected to see her, again,' she added, frowning a little to herself.

'I see,' Eirn replied, after a long moment. 'She's good, then?'

'She prefers not to fight,' Jaesa replied - adding, 'Though I suppose that was obvious enough. But... yes.' Jaesa paused, at that - looking for all the world as though she was debating the merits of volunteering something further.

Eirn said nothing, not right away - let Jaesa stew in her thoughts for a moment, before finally adding, 'And...?'

Jaesa pulled a face, but found her words, all the same. 'If we meet again - if you fight her- Master Kyo is extremely centred _. Stable_.She's nothing like- Master Karr was,' Jaesa added, 'Or... that other Jedi who was with her,' she added, frowning a little. 'It's possible she's changed,' Jaesa mused, half to herself, 'But when I knew her, she was- sure of herself, but not arrogant. She's not the sort of Jedi you can bait into making mistakes.'

'I see,' Eirn just repeated - filing that information away for future use. 'Will there be a problem,' she added, 'If I _do_ fight her?'

'I'm not going to let my past chain me,' Jaesa replied, frowning, 'If that's what you're asking.'

Eirn had to smile a little at that - at Jaesa's pointedly _Sith_ way of phrasing things. No doubt an entirely deliberate turn of phrase, said entirely for Eirn's benefit.'That's not much of an answer, Jaesa,' she replied, though - even as it was one, in that, which was entirely Sith.

Jaesa just studied Eirn for a long moment, before finally replying. 'She won't give up,' she replied, eventually, 'And I know that you won't, either. I- to tell you the truth, Master, I would prefer not to fight her, but if we do... I will stand alongside you. You have my word.'

Which was as much as Eirn knew she could reasonably expect - was more, she knew, than Jaesa might have managed a year previously. Eirn just gave her apprentice a small nod in acknowledgement, before changing the topic entirely.

'How are you finding Broonmark?'

Jaesa just frowned to herself, studying her Master for a long moment; Eirn could feel Jaesa prodding at her mental shielding, but that only resulted in her doubling down on them.

'He looks down on me,' Jaesa replied eventually - irritably. 'He thinks I'm soft, because I don't relish bloodshed the way he does. Violence is- necessary, sometimes, but regrettable. But he doesn't see it that way. He doesn't just enjoy violence,' she added, 'He-

Jaesa paused, at that, before looking to Eirn. 'I thought you felt the same way I did...?'

'How I feel is irrelevant,' Eirn replied, evasively. There were two possible outcomes from this exercise, that she could foresee; either was acceptable, though she had a feeling Jaesa would probably have disagreed.

Jaesa did not look convinced by this, though she apparently knew better than to voice her disagreement. 'How long are you going to make me continue training with him, Master?' she asked - her tone a mixture of wary and defiant.

'As long as I deem necessary,' Eirn replied, entirely flatly. _As long as you can tolerate each other_ , she mused; Broonmark was remarkably apathetic about the whole thing, but Jaesa was apparently another story.

Jaesa did not look satisfied by _that_ , either. 'And how long is that going to be,' she asked, biting back her irritation, 'Master?'

Eirn just smiled, again; for all that she and Jaesa agreed on certain things, this task chafed unpleasantly at her apprentice, which was precisely the reason she'd assigned it. 'As long as it needs to be,' she replied, remaining smiling all the while.

-

Malavai had been avoiding her, since their return to the ship; had ducked into the medical bay, a not unusual state of affairs, but he had failed entirely follow up on her - something which he did with clockwork predictability, if only because he seemed to relish any chance to cause a fuss. When she checked in on him, he was entirely alone - tidying the stores, as though he didn't attend to their order any chance he got.

'Malavai?'

She startled him, too, though quite by accident; he jumped, visibly disturbed, even as he recovered quickly. 

'My lord! I- you surprised me,' he managed, attempting to recover himself. 'How is- your arm?'

'Fine,' Eirn replied, slightly absent-mindedly - well, sort of. Numb and cold and a little painful, all at once - like she'd fallen asleep on it, and it hadn't yet began to twitch and stab as the feeling returned. It wasn't just numb, though; when she traced the paths the Force took through it, it was bent and kinked - warped, the way she'd _felt_ it warp, even as it _physically_ seemed none the worse. It unsettled her, far more than the numbness did, even as she wasn't certain what, if anything, it meant. _Especially_ , somehow.

'Sort of,' she added, flexing her hand - watching with a faint kind of disconnection as it moved, without providing the normal feedback to her brain that it was moving. 

Malavai frowned a little to himself as she spoke; as he picked up a scanner from the workbench, running it over her - studying its readouts (her arm, her upper arm, her shoulder, her neck) and gently pressing against the muscle of her shoulder with his hand, feeling for something and coming up, apparently, blank.

'There does not appear to be any underlying injury, my lord. At least,' he added, 'Nothing that I am able to detect.' Of course, physical injuries were only one source of problems, and other than the discoloured skin on her palm, there seemed to be no physical evidence of the crippling pain those unnatural energies had inflicted on her. Even lightning left behind electrical burns, but this was something else entirely.

He was stumped - stuck for ideas, and all the worse for it. 'If the feeling is returning naturally, then I would suggest rest, and- monitoring the situation,' he finished, a little awkwardly. It wasn't ideal, and Eirn didn't need the Force to pick up his dissatisfaction.

It was also the same conclusion Eirn had drawn herself, and not the reason she was here.

'Malavai...' she started - cautiously, as much as anything.

'My lord?'

He was polite enough \- of course he was, he _always_ was - but that was what concerned her. He wore courtesy and efficiency like a defensive shell; when he retreated behind them, it was a sure sign that something was amiss.

'Is there-' she started. again - halting, as she grabbed at words that refused to arrange themselves into any kind of useful order. 'Is... everything alright?'

He hesitated, looking at her for a long moment like a cat trapped in headlights - an answer in itself, and not the one she'd been hoping for. 'It's nothing that can't wait,' he replied - eventually, and at the same time, far too quickly.

'No,' Eirn managed, after a moment - steeling herself for a conversation she knew she was going to regret. 'If there's something the matter, I want- to fix it, before it becomes a _thing_ , again,' she finished, somewhat awkwardly. She hadn't forgotten their half-argument the last time they'd been in Ilum's orbit, and didn't want to repeat it.

For a moment, he looked as though he was going to argue, though - to make some excuse, to push her away, at least until they were in a less public place. This was hardly the centre of the Kaas marketplace, but they were still liable to be walked in on by the crew; Eirn realised as she'd said it that she'd picked her place for this badly, but it was too late to take it back.

She was on the point of doing just that, herself - apologising, again, ridiculously ( _for a Sith_ , she scolded herself, _you spend far too much time apologising_ ), making some excuse to defer this, indulging in the childish hope that problems left unattended would evaporate rather than fester - when he finally spoke up, steeling himself in turn.

'I- my lord,' he started - quietly, of course, trying not to draw attention, 'When we- encountered your mother today, and you... introduced us. Your family are Sith, and I'm- not. I understand that. I thought I understood it,' he corrected, frowning a little to himself. 'I don't expect any special consideration,' he added, 'But I... had hoped,' he finished, 'that after everything... I was more than simply your _Captain_.'

That word, when he said it, was the worst kind of epithet; not for what it was, but what it wasn't. 

'Oh,' Eirn just managed - scrambling for a response, _any_ response, and coming up against a brick wall of numb apprehension that had nothing to do with her arm.

'Running into mother like that was- a surprise,' she added - of all the planets, of all the places in this forsaken galaxy, it had to be _there_. With Darth Orsus talking down to her like she was a troublesome acolyte, to boot. 'I- wasn't thinking,' she added, ' I didn't mean to- I'm sorry,' she finished, slightly uselessly.

He studied her, as she spoke - as she scrambled for words and reasons, and came up rather short. 'But... you haven't told her about- us? At all?' 

'I- no,' Eirn confessed, after a hesitant moment. 'There's a lot of things I haven't told her. It's- not just you. With everything that's been- everything, lately, and I haven't- whenever I _do_ talk to her we just end up arguing, or getting interrupted, or-' she added - halting her ramble abruptly when she realised she'd started rambling excuses that weren't even convincing _her_.

He didn't seem very reassured by this, and Eirn wasn't certain she could blame him, either. That Sith looked down on those not sensitive to the Force was a simple fact of life; that Eirn was red Sith, with all that implied, just added a further distance between them. There were times it felt as though she'd conquered that distance - or at the very least, met him halfway - but this was not one of them.

'I see,' he just replied - before moving to busy himself with anything that wasn't her.

So much for fixing things - she'd just gone and made them worse. Perhaps this was one of those situations she should just have left, at least until it was less raw - until she had a better grasp of the situation, or at least a better idea of what to say.

_This, Illte, is why you should just stick to stabbing things._

'Malavai-'

'My lord?' He looked across at her - every inch the professional Imperial officer, his expression inscrutable and his aura, to those who didn't know him like she did, utterly calm. When he called her that, though - in that moment, it was a shield, far more than anything - protecting himself, from her eternal clumsy incompetence.

'You _are_ my Captain,' she managed, clumsily, 'But... you're more than that, too. And... you deserve better,' she added. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated, still just as uselessly.

'But...' she added, plunging on, 'Talking to my parents has always been hard. After Anya died - after Baras- _did everything_ , it just got harder.' She looked back across at him, at that. 'Malavai, you _know_ this. They've spent most of the last two years thinking I was _dead_. I still haven't even...' Done so many things she should have. 

She'd _begged_ Baras for leave to visit her parents, in the wake of her sister's passing; he'd refused, and she'd been in the process of working up the nerve to go anyway when the order had come through to visit Quesh - for the second time. Eirn had, after some consideration, decided to play dead; did everything she could to give Baras the illusion that Draagh's plot had succeeded, even if it wasn't a lie that had lasted very long. Her parents had been left in the dark, though - not a decision she had relished, but it had seemed the safest for them, at the time.

'...I know,' he replied, quietly - eventually. 'I- sorry, Eihn, I-'

'No,' she said interrupting him, 'It's- you're right,' she managed, 'I should have- said something. I will,' she added, 'Once Darth Acina's mess is dealt with. I promise.' Which she knew even as she said it was only putting off the inevitable, but it was time she could at least _try_ to spend working out how to approach this.

'Anyway,' she added, a little awkwardly, 'would you really have wanted me to introduce you as my _lover_?'

'Well,' Malavai replied, predictably turning rather red, 'I- no, my lord,' he added. 'That would be...'

'Accurate,' Eirn said, smiling a little to herself, 'But overshare, even for Sith.' Well - for _her_ , anyway.

'Quite,' he managed - apparently embarrassed enough by that thought that he kept having to look away, even as his gaze kept returning to her, all the same.

'And I think we're a little old for _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend_ ,' she added - half teasing him, _trying_ for a little levity.

That made him smile, at least. 'Well,' he replied, 'and... I would like to think that we are a little more- serious.'

'That too,' Eirn managed; hating the lack of any appropriate word, and too uncertain of herself to suggest the most obvious alternatives. 'So,' she added, slightly nervously, 'are we... okay?'

'We are... okay,' he replied - the word not entirely natural in his mouth, but the sentiment remaining.

'Good,' Eirn murmured \- closing some of the distance between them, at that, before reaching out to him with her good arm - pulling him a little closer in turn, and letting out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding when he let himself be pulled.

He half returned the gesture, looping one of his arms around her waist - and took her saber hand in his free one, inspecting it; running a thumb gently across the discoloured skin on her palm, that concern flickering back into his expression.

'You can't feel anything? At all?'

'It's coming back, slowly,' Eirn replied, her own focus back on her arm, at that. 'The Force feels... odd, around it,' she mused, not entirely sure how to describe it to him \- in a way that would make sense, never mind a way that wouldn't cause him to worry further.

'I see,' he murmured; he didn't, if his tone was anything to go by, but Eirn let it slide. 'I'm afraid the mysteries of the Force are beyond my expertise, my lord. I can only reiterate my suggestion to rest.'

'Is that your personal opinion,' Eirn asked, amused, 'Or your professional one?'

_That_ just made him smile. 'My professional opinion, my lord,' he replied, entirely smoothly, 'Is that you should take as much time as possible to rest, while we are en route to Ilum. And my personal one,' he added, 'is that you are terrible at following orders, but I will still try.'

'Perhaps, sir,' Eirn replied playfully, 'You should give better orders.'

'There's nothing wrong with my orders, Sith,' he replied, equally playfully - smiling in a way that promised far better things, 'Just your ability to obey them.'

'Rude,' Eirn murmured, reaching up for a kiss - which he happily granted her, pulling her a little closer, something which just by itself let a sort of happy relief spread through her. Eirn let her good hand, which had been resting on the small of his back, wander a little further south - coming to a halt just below his belt (she couldn't feel _much_ in her saber hand, but could feel his grip on it tighten, at that - feel his breath quicken) as she pressed herself into the kiss, deepening it as he pulled her in, in turn, and-

'Oh, _gross_. Get a room, seriously.'

-and broke it off, reluctantly, before turning to glare at Vette - who was standing in the doorway to the medbay, pulling a face.

'You know, Vette,' Eirn said, 'One day you're going to meet someone and be _at least_ as gross, if not more.'

'Never gonna happen,' Vette replied airily. 'I am the epitome of _not gross_.'

'I will remind you of that,' Malavai managed, 'The next time I find you eating raw cake batter out of a mixing bowl.'

Vette just made an undignified _harumph_ noise. 'That was _one time_ ,' she said, huffing. 'And it still tasted better than the crap _you_ eat.'

'Vette,' Eirn started, before this escalated into an actual argument, 'Was there something you wanted?'

'Yea,' Vette replied, 'I was gonna tell you that grub's up. Assuming you can stop eating your boyfriend's face.'

Which just made Eirn giggle, a little stupidly - which made Malavai smile, as well, despite himself. Vette, though, didn't see the funny side - just stared at them both, entirely judgementally.

'Weirdos,' she muttered - before turning on her heel, adding, 'whatever.'

-

_Rest_ , for all that Malavai prescribed it, was not a state of being that Eirn felt able to entertain; was not one she felt able to engage in, at that. She had too many tasks to attend to - too many thoughts that would not stop nagging at her mind, too many worries that refused to be quieted.

Her saber, when she eventually tried it, stubbornly refused to light; more than that, something just felt _off_ about the way it felt in her grip, though Eirn couldn't place quite what. She wasn't certain, at that, that it wasn't just an artefact of the numbness in her saber arm - or the sheer unfamiliarity of holding a hilt in her offhand. Still, she clearly needed to check the thing over for damage; it showed no outward signs of failure, but Eirn knew full well that outward appearances rarely told the whole story.

There were more private places she could have serviced it, but the cargo bay's workbench served well enough; it had decent lighting, and little chance of being disturbed. Besides which, Eirn had never quite understood the almost fetishistic manner in which some Sith treated their sabers. They were tools, nothing more - the hilt she used was of no significance whatsoever, other than the fact it was more comfortable in her hand than any other. The casing was a mass-produced one she'd bought on Vaiken; the crystal was a synthesised one created on Dromund Kaas, the only part of her saber that actually meant anything and even then she'd have denied it.

Taking her saber apart was no difficult task; care and maintenance of a lightsaber was one of the more tedious, if vital, skills that one was expected to master in order to become Sith. She'd taken her saber - her _sabers_ \- apart and put them back together more times than she was able to recall - could probably have done it in her sleep, if required. Nothing about it came as surprise, or posed difficulty - other than its stubborn refusal to ignite.

What she wasn't expecting, though, was the state the crystal was in, once she'd opened it up - shattered, right the way through, blackened as if burnt and crumbling, too, in places. The battery was similarly burnt out, shorted in a way it shouldn't have been and smelling faintly of ozone.

'Wow. That thing is _toast_.'

Eirn glanced up to see Vette hovering in the doorway, her aura and expression a kind of wary, cautious, curiosity. So much for being alone.

'Not quite,' Eirn replied, though. 'It could be repaired. If I had the time,' she added - and the parts, and the inclination, and the feeling in both hands.

'Don't you have a spare, though?' Vette asked - appearing next to her, and pulling a face at the state of Eirn's saber.

'I do,' Eirn replied, slightly absent-mindedly. The spare was old - _ancient_ according to Baras, though Eirn had no idea how accurate that assessment was. It was the one she'd killed him with; the one she'd become Sith with. She'd never liked the way it rested in her hand, though - the way it vibrated when lit, the way leant against her hip when holstered. It was a last resort, in so many ways, and she was much happier when she could just leave it in its case - tucked away at the back of the safe in her quarters.

'Don't you have anything better to do?' she added, glancing at Vette.

'Not really,' Vette replied, shrugging. 'I already read everything worth reading. Twice. I even started reading one of those Sithy things you gave Jae, but then I remembered I don't hate myself. I think I've watched every holo on the ship that's not porn, and some that are, and by the way, Sith dicks? Are _nasty_. I kinda get now why you went for a human, even if he's a stick-in-the-mud. And-'

Eirn just laughed to herself at Vette's diatribe. 'Alright,' she said, interrupting her, 'You've made your point.'

'Point?' Vette replied, her face a picture of innocence.

'I apologise for leaving you to babysit the ship so much, Vette,' Eirn said, 'But you know I don't like to leave it unattended.'

'The droid is here,' Vette replied, huffing. 'Or Jae could. Or Admiral No-fun. Or-'

'Captain Quinn is my medic, Vette,' Eirn replied, sighing. They'd had this discussion so many times she'd lost count; she could only assume that this too was a symptom of Vette's boredom.

'I can use a kolto spray too, you know,' Vette protested, ' _And_ blasters, _and_ -'

' _Vette_.'

' _Eir._ ' Vette's impression of her annoyed exasperation was worryingly on point, and Eirn wondered for a moment if Vette practised it, or if she was just a natural.

'Sith dicks are not _nasty_ ,' Eirn replied, after another long moment, 'And you should never believe anything that you see in porn.'

To which Vette didn't have an awful lot to say, other than a dramatic _urgh!_. 'Fine!' she added, 'I'll watch the rest of it! If it scars me for life, it's your fault!'

'Let me know if you come across anything good,' Eirn replied, smiling to herself. 'I could use some ideas-'

' _No!_ ' Vette cried, clapping her hands over her earcones, as she left. ' _No! No! No!_ '

-

Tuning her spare saber came with its own challenges - its own excuses to avoid sleeping, even if Eirn would never have admitted to it. She hadn't used this blade since she'd executed Baras, and even then she'd used a different crystal in it; the purple one she'd made as her own, the one which had shattered and crumbled - an omen she refused to read. Her spare had its own crystal - a natural crystal as old as the rest of the saber was, the deep red colour traditionally associated with Sith. Something Darth Orsus would have thoroughly approved of, even if that just made Eirn want to refuse it all the more. 

Her saber arm still felt odd - not quite numb, but feeling wasn't quite returned yet, either; whatever the staff's energies had done to her was wearing off, albeit slowly. The saber, though, she could feel entirely normally in her grip - was the only thing that _did_ feel normal, and that itself was odd - even as it was an oddity she could never quite focus on. Eirn tried to take it as a sign that the feeling was returning, slowly - tried, clumsily, to practice her stances, and found the half-absent sensations from her arm just made the whole exercise one in missing the mark, repeatedly.

She gave up, eventually - sighed, irritably, before moving finally to deactivate her saber and find some other way to pass the time. She couldn't, though - her fingers refused to move, her saber refused to dim, another oddity that jarred unpleasantly in her mind. Eirn looked down at her hand, on impulse, to see her fingers fused in place - looked closer, and realised with a growing sense of horror that they were hardening and blackening. Not just her fingers - her hand, her _arm_ \- her skin warping and splitting as the muscle and sinew beneath it twisted and swelled. Her saber sputtered out as her hand warped into something horrific, crushing the weapon in a twisted mass of blackened flesh that just _kept on growing_ , dragging itself down as Eirn tried push through her terrified panic and do _anything_ that wasn't simply stare in horror. It was only at the first stab of pain, though, that she realised it was spreading - creeping up along her flesh, corrupting the _rest_ of her as well.

She fumbled, for a moment, with her free hand - took a splintered piece of her shattered saber's hilt and gritted her teeth, before pressing it to her skin - consumed with the idea that she had to cut away the black, twisted growth before it spread to the rest of her. Her skin broke easily, even as it was painful, with blood welling to the surface - and Eirn felt horror grip her again as she realised that her blood had turned black, too - that it stank, the way the twisted burial sites had stunk-

Eirnhaya panicked - there was no other word for it - and sat up in bed far too sharply, struggling against the blankets which had conspired to tangle themselves around her before all but falling out of bed (not even _trying_ , for once, to avoid waking her lover) and stumbling into the fresher. She snapped on the light, wincing for a moment at the sudden brightness but mostly fumbling through the cabinet for- something sharp, _anything_ , Malavai had a razor, or-

(He was awake, too - she was aware of him, suddenly and very acutely - his confusion, his annoyance, his _worry_ -)

'Eihn-'

(-and then he was there - standing next to her, over her, hovering - imposing on her space, struggling not to impose further and far too _there_ as it was-)

'I'm _fine_ ,' she replied, a little more sharply than intended. She wasn't fine - she was exhausted, she was far too awake, and- fuck, what if he _saw_ -

'Eihn,' he started again, more sternly this time, 'You're bleeding.'

That got her attention at least - made her look at her arm properly, finally, if only because it was better than looking at him. She was still cradling it, slightly ridiculously, but it was far from the blackened, twisted thing it had been in the nightmare. Her skin was not even bruised or mottled - was as red as it was supposed to be. The numbness had faded, too; not entirely, but enough that she could feel her fingers on her skin - feel the cool air that circulated in the fresher. The blood was coming from a wound she'd clawed open, a numb pain that gnawed at her awareness; it too was red, no darker than it should have been, and certainly not stinking of anything. 

(The only thing that stank was her fear; it surrounded her, like a shameful cloud that could never be truly washed away) 

'Come on,' he added, quietly, 'Let's get you cleaned up.'

'I'm fine,' she murmured again - tried to protest, even as she let him tug her gently out of the fresher.

(Disinfectant, a little kolto gel, a gauze bandage... Eirn decided not to notice he'd begun keeping a first aid kit in their quarters, or the ease with which he'd fallen into this role)

'Bad dream?' he asked, gently - nonjudgmentally, as much as she judged herself for it anyway.

She nodded, though, closing her eyes and leaning against him; hating how much better it felt when she did, and all the more so when he put an arm around her.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

No; all she wanted was to _sleep_ , to be able to close her eyes and rest and not have- _this_ \- but she just shook her head, curling up against him and wishing that the morning wouldn't bring with it all the evidence that _this_ had been far too real.

'Alright,' he murmured; pressing a small kiss to her forehead, holding her close. Comforting her, as much as she hated needing to be comforted.

'Sorry,' she managed, quietly, 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'It's alright,' he insisted; it wasn't, but she was too exhausted to argue any further. 'Come on,' he added, 'come back to bed.'

(He was talking to her, she realised, like she was a scared child; her anger and irritation at that realisation ended up evaporating into frustrated self-loathing, that she was weak enough to be so terrified of things that didn't even have the decency to be _real_ \- that the real things in her life she should have been focused on didn't even register, by comparison. She didn't reply, though, or protest; just curled up under the sheets, and closed her eyes, and attempted to remember how to breathe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated!
> 
> (Normal update schedule now resumes)


	15. Desecration

There were messages waiting for Eirnhaya when she woke, the next morning - reminders of the way the world passed them by while they were in hyperspace, of the time that she'd spent vulnerable and inactive while asleep. 

A note from her grandmother, wishing her a happy birthday; it wasn't for over a month yet, but she'd never once gotten it right, and Eirn didn't suppose this was a trend ever likely to change. An intel update on some disturbance or another in Hutt space that she didn't care about. A circular from the Dark Council about public holidays, which she ignored. A notice from the artisan on Kaas that her armour was ready for inspection, when she was in the city; Eirn winced, hoping that she could make do, for now, with Imperial Army standard issue.

A high-priority message from an unfamiliar name, marked as having been sent on a secure channel - none of which did anything to set her ease, even as these were the things that made her play back the message.

' _-Unfortunately, I am contacting you with bad news, and a warning. Shortly after your departure from Belsavis, we received word from the Major Rago that they had lost the position you captured to Republic forces. Though we were able to retake the position, we still have reason to believe that the information you recovered has been passed to the Jedi. Darth Acina has arranged for military support for your strike on Ilum, but our forces there are limited. Should you require_ -'

Eirn found herself rather hoping that Rago had been on the receiving end of more than simple stern disapproval from Acina, as little as that would help. It had been impossible to try and properly impress on the man how important it was \- not on a relatively open channel, not without risking compromising the mission - not without admitting _Their_ defection, a secret that the Dark Council was still trying to keep to itself.

_As though that does anything to help._

Her hand - her _arm_ \- still felt uncomfortable; not so much numb, any more, as stiff and rubbery. Waking up to find a bandage still on her did not do anything to make her feel better, if only because of the evidence it was of her uselessness from the night before. She ignored it \- refused to acknowledge it, barely answering Malavai's worried query ( _I'm fine_ , she replied, even as they both knew she wasn't), covering it first with an undershirt and then with armour, out of sight and almost out of mind.

(She held her spare saber in her hand, to reassure herself it had not shattered, and only felt all the more uncomfortable - the way it hummed in her grip, the way it had in her dream, the way it always had)

-

Vette was glaring pointedly at her as Eirn reviewed what they knew - what _little_ they knew, while waiting for docking clearance from the orbital station. 

(Eirn, pacing irritably in front of the holo; Pierce half at attention, half trying to caffeinate himself into useful wakefulness; Malavai, putting off the moment when he'd have to put on the last of his cold weather gear; Jaesa sat on the couch, tying the laces on her boots)

'Let me guess,' Vette muttered, 'I'm keeping the droid company. As usual.'

'Actually,' Eirn replied, 'This one is all hands on deck. I don't like to leave the ship unattended, but if-' she started - and then paused abruptly, as Vette turned on her heel and stalked back into the crew quarters.

' _Vette!_ Get back here-!' Malavai started - his patience short with Vette at the best of times, and this was far from such.

'I need my blasters! _GeezI_ ' Vette shouted back; Jaesa smiled to herself, though at what, Eirn didn't like to guess.

('...why are you keeping them in quarters...?' Malavai started, mostly to himself.

'Kid likes to know where her guns are. Can't say I blame her,' Pierce mused, and Eirn could _taste_ her lover's irritation)

-

'My Lord. Welcome back to Ilum. Darth Acina sent word to expect you-'

Eirn frowned to herself, at the welcome _back_ ; true, this was her second trip to this rock, but she didn't recognise the man, and wasn't sure she liked being recognised in turn. Major Dermian, commander of Ilum's forces, was more accommodating and less irritable than Rago, though that wasn't necessarily a net positive.

'-Your, ah, assistance during the Grand Moff's campaign was invaluable. Darth Acina did not elaborate on the nature of your mission here but-'

'Get to the point, please,' Eirn replied, slightly irritably. Sycophancy gave her a headache, and she didn't have the focus to waste on that.

'Of course, my lord. My apologies. We've an established waystation towards the main ruin complex that you are welcome to use, but I'm afraid that our forces are stretched rather thin now that the war's focus is elsewhere, and-'

'So what you're saying,' Eirn said, sighing to herself, 'Is that I'm on my own.'

'In a manner of speaking, my lord.' He looked at her as though he expected her to- well, to be _Sith_ , and wasn't relieved when all she actually did was sigh irritably.

_Why do I bother._

'If this goes pear-shaped, Major,' Eirn replied stiffly, 'It will be on _your_ head.'

-

The Imperial waystation got them most of the way to the ruins, at the very least; it saved a trek across Ilum's frigid landscape, and the accompanying complaints it would inevitably mean from her crew.

(Eirn couldn't help but wish, not for the first time, that she could find a better excuse to be on this world; Ilum was beautiful, and not just because of its cold. She was also acutely aware that this was probably not an opinion that her company shared, despite Jaesa's romantic gushing over shooting stars or Vette's gleeful noises about snow. Pierce was from Ziost, like her, and Broonmark was... Broonmark, but Malavai had always made it clear he disliked the cold - disliked extremes of any kind, it seemed.)

The Republic apparently still had a presence on Ilum, above and beyond whatever bad omen the holomessage had been; Eirn knew this, because Dermian's intel report (skimmed through on the shuttle ride to the waystation, a dry but informative read) was, unlike his martial assistance, useful. The initial push that Eirn remembered being repelled during their last stay here had remained that way; other than occasional Jedi, the Republic had

The lucky Corporal managing the waystation even had an update for her; a Republic patrol had been spotted in the far northern ruins, but nowhere near the area Eirn was interested in. It wasn't reassuring in the slightest (affirmation that the Republic was anywhere near her rarely was), but it was at least more useful than an apology. 

The Temple itself was in relatively good repair; it wasn't difficult to see why the Host had decided to make it theirs. A large, almost-intact facility on a backwater world that was strong in the Force, but out of the way enough that the war had largely passed it by. The site of the Temple seemed to be particularly strong in the Force; almost _vibrant_ \- and yet somehow neither particularly light or dark, though- not in balance, either. It oscillated, as if on a knife edge - as if it could tip one way or the other, if pushed, and was only held in check by the forces that warred over it. It was tempting to try and push it, too - into the darkness, to spite the Jedi. Into the light, to spite Tagriss and his masters. Both motivations ended up cancelling each other out - besides which, Eirn wasn't certain how much one obstinate Sith could hinder matters.

The Force wasn't the only power there, either; the Republic and their attempts at civilisation might have been driven off the planet, but someone had got the Temple's generators up and running. If there had ever been automated defences here - cannons, fences, forcefields - they were long gone, victims of one of the many wars that had rolled around Ilum in the time since its Imperial occupation had begun. The lights, though, were on, and if the caution that hummed in the Force was anything to go by, someone was almost certainly home. 

Eirn would honestly have felt better about this if there had been no power - if the ruin had just been _that_ , a dead and empty shell that Tagriss had retreated to - but it wasn't, and that in itself unsettled her. Abandoned shells of empty ruins were one thing; occupied enemy territory was another, and the enemy of her enemy was still just as dangerous. Even so, the ground level hallways were host to nothing more troublesome than dust bunnies and slush footprints; proof that there were occupiers, proof that they were not prone to cleanliness, but not proof of much else either way.

The sublevel was less welcoming - Eirn didn't have to step out of the elevator to pick up on the heightened danger in the Force, and from her expression, neither did Jaesa. That the two Sith were on edge set the mood for the rest of her crew; blasters were drawn and sabers were lit without a single word having to be said.

They clearly weren't alone - the clear sounds of a battle could be heard, echoing down the corridor. Blaster fire, cries of pain and surprise and unpleasant endings, the sound the bodies hitting concrete and the stink of singed flesh. Eirn took the lead, proceeding cautiously - 

'Odd,' Jaesa murmured, 'I can't sense anyone here - other than the Host. No Jedi, or- Sith...'

No Sith - but as Eirn prodded the Force in hope of answers, she came up against the same unpleasant, unnatural miasma at the Temple's centre that had clouded her senses at the burial sights - which had hidden rakghouls and rancors alike until far too late. 

'Be on your guard, all the same,' Eirn replied, keeping her voice low. 'We don't know what to-' she started to add, stopping short as they rounded a turn in the corridor. The Dread Host were out in force, apparently - battling amongst themselves, though the cause of this was not immediately apparent. A group of them had barricaded themselves into a room off the corridor; several corpses were slumped across the corridor from the room's entrance, and one more against the wall opposite, underneath a bloody smear down the wall.

' _Think that's the last of them, Sarge._ '

' _Get the kolto then, and hurry it up._ '

That the Host seemed capable of speech and near-rational thought did not put Eirn at ease, any; the ones on Belsavis had been, too, and they'd been just as utterly dominated by _Them_. Still, there was only one way to find out just how rational they were - and she took a deep breath before revealing herself, saber drawn - but not attacking, not yet.

'You there,' she said - immediately drawing the attention of the Host, who definitely looked less than pleased to see her. 'What's going on?'

'Wrath.' Their Sergeant, if his stripes were the same as Imperial ones - and Eirn felt irrationally annoyed that _They_ had aped the Imperial military. 'This Temple belongs to the Dread Masters. If you are not here to serve,' he added, 'then you will die.'

'What happened here?' Eirn asked - keeping her saber held defensively, ready to parry or block at a moment's notice; deliberately not addressing the threat he'd made, but not backing down, either.

There were a few of them - almost an even match in numbers, even if Eirn found it impossible to consider them an even match in threat. For one thing, she and Jaesa were Sith (or almost-Sith, in Jaesa's case); for another, the Host had wounded - all of them bore signs of battle, though one in particular was clutching bloody bandages to one thigh, and was struggling not to slide down to the floor entirely.

'That's none of your concern,' the Guardsman retorted, keeping his rifle level. They were outmatched, and _had_ to know it; there was something faintly admirable about their resolve, Eirn mused, even if it was to a highly questionable cause.

( _Was it a voluntary dedication_ , part of her wondered, _or had They dominated these men - and they were all men - into submission?_ )

('Sir,' the wounded Guardsman managed, through gritted teeth, 'Shouldn't we warn-?')

The Host Sergeant, though, was having none of it. 'You had your warning, Wrath. _Open fire_!'

Eirn was ready for it, though - as was Jaesa, the younger woman's saber up to deflect away blaster bolts before he'd even finished speaking. It was over embarrassingly quickly - embarrassing for the Host, anyway, though Eirn couldn't help but feel a little underwhelmed by everything about it, too.

'My lord,' Malavai started, 'I would strongly suggest that we not waste time engaging in fruitless parley. The Dread Host are entirely irrational. There is nothing to be gained by this.'

Excepting perhaps an explanation as to what they'd walked in on - something which Eirn did _not_ have a good feeling about.

'I agree,' Jaesa added - to Eirn's surprise. 'The more we delay, the more likely it is the Republic will catch up with us.'

_Ah_ , Eirn mused, _that's what concerns her._

'Wait,' she started, looking over the warmest of the cooling bodies - doing a quick head count, and- 'One's missing.'

The wounded Guardsman had gone - had left a bloodied trail, at that, which lead out to the corridor and beyond. Broonmark had already stalked out after him, if the bloody footprints were any indication; on stepping outside of the barricaded sideroom, Eirn found the guardsman gurgling his last while hanging from Broonmark's claws like a limp, bloody doll.

'< _Lame, cowardly, prey. An unsatisfying kill._ >'

'Don't worry,' Eirn muttered darkly, 'I'm sure Tagriss will put up a better fight.'

'Uh... Eir...' Vette started, half interrupted Eirn's thought.

'What is it, Vette-' Eirn started, as she turned - and stopped abruptly as she saw precisely what _it_ was.

Vette had been looking over the Host's corpses - had paused on one of the Host killed in the initial skirmish. It didn't take much examination to show that this Guardsman was different from the rest of the Host, though - at least, not the ones who'd been talking and shooting. 

Like all of the Host, the fallen Guardsman that Vette had found was dressed in the armour of the Dread Host - an almost-neutral grey-and-red affair, that put Eirn in the mind of the lower ranks of the Imperial Guard. Unlike most of the Host, though, his exposed skin was- _grey_ , taught and almost leathery; his blood, where his skull had been cracked open, was slick and black and _stank_.

_Oh._

'Gross, right?' Vette went straight for the understatement which missed the point; kicked the corpse, and continued pulling a face when it continued being repulsive.

_grey, knotted muscle, pulsing with unbound strength and energy-_

Eirn just swallowed, hard; pushed the unwanted memory of a dream back down, and tried to focus back on the task at hand - tried not to focus on the proof - unpleasant as it was - that the Seeds could have their corrupting effects on sentient beings, as well as bad-tempered wildlife. The Host might have arguably already been compromised, but were still _people_ ; the thing on the floor, though, was something quite else.

'Alright,' she muttered, though, 'Enough gawking. We've got a job to do.'

-

The silence that hung over the Temple as they headed deeper in did nothing to reassure Eirn; the deeper they headed in, the more acutely aware she became that she'd voluntarily trapped herself down here with all manner of things; whatever Tagriss had brought here, and whatever it was that had happened to those Host. (The more she could feel half-remembered fragments of dreams and nightmares bobbing back up to the surface; the more she could almost _swear_ she could feel her saber arm ache, a dull, almost-numb sensation that did not reassure her in the slightest).

The corridor opened out, shortly after, to large room with walls lined with computer banks, and shelving home to dusty holocrons and even a few _books_ , the latter starting to fall apart with age. What got Eirn's attention, though, was the more recent additions to the decor - the jury-rigged forcefields, the mobile incineration units hooked up to half-functional generators - the cracks in the tiling where Dread growths had forced their way up through the floor, sprouting into the foul, creeping structures that had spawned from the Seeds.

'This must have been the archives,' Jaesa murmured, glancing around the room. 'I don't understand,' she added, though, 'Why he'd plant the Seeds here. If there's nothing here but his allies...'

'If he's corrupted the Force itself,' Eirn replied, 'He may not need to.' She kept thinking of that place on Voss - wondering, not for the first time, if it was that which had inspired the creation of the Seeds in the first place. 

(Voss, though, had not stunk - not like this place did, not like the air itself was rotting. The Dark Heart on Voss was more akin to that of the Dark Temple, back on Kaas; an ancient, vengeful vintage, perfectly distilled hatred and anguish - life, in its darkest moments, but still life. This was- a clumsy aping of that, an attempt to hasten the process that resulted in something quite else - a rot, that seeped into every crevice, that warped and ruined everything it touched)

'Hey, Eir. I think I found something,' Vette had been nosing through the desks and shelves, and found one datapad that was still on - that was not, unlike the ones left on the shelves, covered in a thick layer of dust. 'I think it's the Creepmeister General's,' she added, handing the datapad to Eirn. 'Looks like he was recording stuff on it.'

Eirn had to admit that, pending Republic interlopers or not, having a poke through Tagriss's own files was a tempting prospect. Curiosity got the better of her, and she selected the most recent recording to play back; the tiny, tinny holoprojector flared into life, displaying an image of her quarry as he committed his thoughts to record.

_Log begins: Experiments so far proving fruitless. Guardsmen refusing to submit, despite prior mental conditioning. Indirect exposure grants some control - will monitor for deleterious effects. Suspect that heightened exposure will result in greater compliance but possibly at risk of higher mental functions._

'He's experimenting on his own people?' That Jaesa could still be horrified probably said more about _her_ than anything else down here, though this was a thought Eirn kept to herself.

'He's Sith,' Eirn mused, 'And probably the only the one of the Host here with any kind of free will.'

_It also explains why he went rogue to begin with. Acina would never sanction this - not without the Emperor's assent._

'Gross,' Vette muttered, pulling a face. 'Those guys in the out there seemed kinda... normal, though?' she added, glancing between anyone she could catch the eye of.

'Anyone who can string a sentence together seems normal in a nuthouse, kid,' Pierce grunted. 'Rest of the room is clear, m'lord,' he added, addressing Eirn. 'If there was a party here, we missed it.'

('Hey,' Vette protested, 'I'm not a _kid_.')

'Pity,' Eirn replied dryly - glancing over the datapad one more time before handing it back to Vette. 'In that case,' she added, 'We should press on.'

-

The hum of danger in the Force didn't abate any; more than that, the corridors became more overgrown by those foul growths the more they ventured in. It was beginning to feel almost as though they were heading into one huge growth itself, the centre of the Temple - the centre of that stinking mass, the centre of that impenetrable miasma in the Force, apparently all one and the same. It was a small wonder, Eirn mused briefly, that the Jedi hadn't picked up on this - hadn't sent their own expedition in.

( _How do you know they haven't_ , her paranoia mused, _and that they didn't end up as Tagriss's thralls, too?_ )

The alcoves that were placed intermittently along the corridor were the most overgrown; Eirn wasn't convinced that some of them didn't lead into rooms that had been filled with the foul growths, even as that was a suspicion she had neither time nor inclination to try and confirm. There were puddles, beneath some of them, of that black-almost-blood, half dried in some cases - but with no sign of how it had gotten there. One possibility was raised by the state of an alcove further in, though - covered with a formation that could be best described as a _blister_ , were it not large enough that it was _almost_ person-sized; a little larger, perhaps, but-

'This one's- different to the others,' Jaesa managed, unable to keep the fascinated disgust out of her expression. 'Something about it just feels-'

'...Warm,' Eirn mused, drawing her saber. 'Stay back,' she added, drawing her saber - remembering, faintly, the blisters that had been visible at the burial sites they'd already seen.

('My lord-' Malavai started, his tone full of caution and disapproval)

For a moment, it just burned - and then sagged as the skin broke, starting to peel away unpleasantly. The first thing she noticed was the smell - the overpowering fresh, rotten stench that made her eyes water - and the slick black almost-blood that dripped out of it, onto the floor. The second thing was that something had slumped out of it - a human, almost - one of the _Host_ , judging by the uniform he wore (half stuck to him, soaked in the whatever-it-was that dripped to the floor) and when he staggered to his feet it was with an uncoordinated shakiness. As soon as he'd stood, though - staggering, and slumping - and, when he noticed he had company, attempting to strike.

The twisted Host guardsman was dead before he could land a single hit - blaster bolts from Pierce and Malavai sending him staggering backwards, before slumping back down to the floor, into the muck that had spilled out of the- whatever it had been, along with him.

'That-' Jaesa started, before abruptly running out of words - and desire to try to use them.

He had, Eirn couldn't not notice, the same grey skin that the rest of corrupted Host had ( _that you had_ , her memories reminded her, _in that dream-_ ) - seemed almost to drip that same black-almost-blood that the growths did, where he'd been hit by the blaster bolts. 

'Must be how he's making his freaks,' Pierce muttered, not trying to hide his own disgust.

Eirn just nodded, staring for a further moment in horror and revulsion before attempting to tear her attention away. 'If we see any more of those things-'

'Don't pop them,' Vette chimed in, 'Please?'

'Be on your guard,' Eirn finished, sighing. Not that anyone had been anything else since they'd entered this place, but it bore repeating.

-

There were other blisters, as they proceeded down the corridor; the decision was quickly made to dispatch of their contents as quickly as possible, with Eirn and Jaesa making good use of their lightsabers to make sure that their contents flopped out as inanimate as possible.

('Can't we just,' Vette protested, at the stench, 'Leave them alone? Maybe they'll stay... unpopped.'

'And maybe they won't,' Eirn replied - not keen on the stench either, but even less at the thought of untoward surprises, 'But at least this way we know they're dealt with.')

The main corridor they'd been heading down opened out, after a short distance, into what Eirn assumed had once been a foyer or antechamber of some kind. It was thoroughly overgrown now, though - the twisted growths that the Seeds spawned (that whatever they did to the world around them spawned) crawling up the walls and along the ceiling. More than that, though, there were puddles of that slick, black maybe-blood on the floor, and Eirn wasn't certain that they weren't _dripping_ from the clumps of growth hanging from the ceiling. She gave them a wide berth, either way, and noticed that her crew were doing much the same.

What got her attention the most, though, was the antechamber's centrepiece - an enormous crystal of the kind that Jedi favoured, pale green in colour, humming with faint power of its own and all but encased by tendrils of the Dread growth. The growth's tendrils had twisted themselves around it, as they grew - cracking it, in places, but not crushing it, and supporting between them what could only be described as some kind of shell, or- a _sac_ , almost opaque, almost _solid_ , but which was taut under inner pressure and had a _warmth_ emanating from it in the Force that Eirn knew promised nothing pleasant.

'Master,' Jaesa murmured, quietly, 'That- doesn't feel like anything good. If it's another-'

Jaesa paused abruptly as the soft almost-shell shifted, almost imperceptibly - and then bulged outwards, pressed against from within, to an unseen point. Eirn hopped backwards several steps as it bulged, immediately reaching for her saber - Jaesa followed suit, and the rest of her crew weren't far behind. The skin-shell stretched tighter, as whatever was inside it pressed against it - and then finally split, as _something_ pierced it, from the inside - the sac splitting and tearing, that slick black-almost-blood first dribbling and then sloshing out onto the ground as the thing that had been inside it staggered out. It was huge, and it _stank_ , a blackened, shining creature \- a chitinous insectoid that chittered to itself as it staggered away from its rotten cocoon. It was bipedal, sort of - stood on its rear legs, antennae twitching as it stretched, the goop it had been marinating in dripping to the ground, hitting it with a thick _slap_ ping sort of noise(for a moment, Eirn half expected its chitinous shell to peel away to reveal wings of some sort; it did not, but that did not make her feel much better). 

' _Oh! Gross!_ ' Vette wasn't the only one to react, but she was the loudest - and the most verbal, and ended up with the creature's attention as a result.

It roared, somehow - augmenting whatever sound it pushed out of its beak (large and squat and sharp, its mandibles dripping and glistening)with the Force, before lunging at the Twi'lek, giving chase; Vette, naturally, squealed and ducked away, scrambling for anywhere to be that wasn't lunch for the corrupted-giant-insect-thing.

'< _Hey! Ugly! >_' Eirn wasn't going to let that stand - roared at the creature, High Sith and the Force grabbing its attention at least as much as disgusted Twi'lek. 

It rounded on her at that, lobbing a ball of spittle at her that she dodged (which ate into the Dread growth that it hit instead, hissing and spitting all the while). Eirn was ready for it, though - had her saber out and lit, and took at defensive swing at the creature when it lunged towards her. It skittered backwards, but didn't concede that ground for long, lashing out at her with its maybe-arms and abruptly squealing in distracted pain as Jaesa plunged her saber into its side. 

(' _Can't get through that shell! It must have_ -' - Vette, one blaster in each hand, ducking around behind any kind of cover she could find after every shot.

' _Aim for the joints,_ ' - Pierce, not quite ducking in and out of cover, _'where there's gaps in the shell-'_ )

The insect-thing tried to turn, as it squealed, searching for the source of its injury and only opening its flank, which Eirn took full advantage of - her saber penetrating where blaster fire refused to, prompting another pained squeal from the creature. It lashed back at Eirn with a- a _tendril_ from its underbelly that latched onto her tightly, wrapping itself around her throat and immediately constricting, tighter and quicker than any choke.

(she was aware, faintly, of Broonmark hacking at the vulnerable tentacle, before turning on the insect-thing as it squealed again, wounded by something outside of her narrow focus)

' _Stupid! Here!_ ' Jaesa didn't speak Sith, but she could still shout - still grab at the creature's attention with the Force, even as it staggered to take a swing at Broonmark.

Eirn, though, had just staggered backwards, trying to pull away the tentacle that had been attempting to throttle her, and only half succeeding; she was caught by Malavai, who pulled the now-limp tentacle from around her throat, as she attempted to remember how to breathe.

('My lord-' he started; 'I'm fine,' she managed, interrupting him; still trying to breathe, but not a priority, ' _go_.')

The insect-thing was faring poorly - staggering, bleeding profusely from its wounds, its swipes at Jaesa wild and wide, giving the apprentice more than ample time to dodge them. Eirn circled behind it, studying the creatures movements - watching, for a moment, before striking at it again - aiming not for its carapace but the vulnerable spots where its shell met rotten flesh, digging her saber into it and drawing blood and screams from the insectoid, as it lashed out at her in blind panic.

Jaesa struck it from its front, in that moment of wounded panic - drove her saber just as deep, cutting into it before pulling back, drawing another pained howl from the thing, before it staggered forwards - and collapsed, finally; screamed and tried to skitter, as it died \- struggled, to the very last, before finally expiring in a puddle of its own foul juices. 

(Vette, in a corner, was retching; Eirn grimaced when she noticed, her own stomach far from settled. She swallowed it back, though - they still had too much in front of them, and too little time to waste on such indulgences)

'That's- that was...' Jaesa began, not even _attempting_ disguise the horror and disgust in her voice.

'Gross,' Vette groaned, from her corner. 'Really fuckin' gross.'

'My lord,' Malavai started, from her side - reaching for his medical scanner, 'Are you alright?'

Eirn just nodded; she was out of breath, but she would live. 'Vette?' she just managed, glancing over her crew - 'Jaesa?'

'I'm fine,' Vette claimed, despite having turned a paler shade of blue than normal. 'Just, you know. Beyond grossed out.'

Jaesa just a non-committal gesture, doing her best not to tread in the dead insect-thing's juices as she moved around the room, and not entirely succeeding; Pierce, from his vantage point, just managed an amused grunt at Vette's distress.

'<A worthy foe. The Dread-clan-abomination falls before us. The Dread-clan-traitor will soon follow.>' Broonmark, at least, was his usual font of bloodthirsty optimism.

'Yeah, well,' Vette replied, 'Don't try to make a rug out of it, or anything. It stinks.'

'<The rot corrupts its hide. Our survival is a worthy trophy.>'

Which, as sentiments went, was extremely hard to disagree with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am attempting to move to a more frequent update schedule. I am admitting this publicly because then I might stick to it.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated ♥


	16. Execution

They did not have to venture much further to locate Tagriss, at least; his own sanctum was, as Eirn had suspected, the centre of the unnatural miasma that had settled over his stolen Temple. He'd set up a forge of sorts, down in the gloom - there were Jedi crystals scattered around the room, some encased in the creeping growths and some stacked in crates marked as having been stolen from Arcanum. The Seeds themselves were there, too - one released from its containment and held suspended in the air between the arms of his forge, its energy leeching into the very air around it. 

He seemed far more at home in the rot here than he had on Arcanum, which even in the chaos of his treachery had been a sterile place by comparison. Even Tagriss's sanctum was home to those foul growths that the Seeds spawned, crawling up the walls and punching through the floor tiles - even caving through the ceiling, in places, and the knowledge that those growths extended _above_ them did not make Eirn feel any better.

(Eirn could feel her saber arm _ache_ , bone-deep; she tried to push it out of her mind, even as she was unable to forget the nightmare)

'-but I have a feeling,' he was saying, his voice carried in a way that _definitely_ didn't feel natural, 'you will not be disappointed.'

For a moment, Eirn assumed that Tagriss wasn't alone; then she spotted the holo, and the blue pall it cast across the room - the shadows it cast, the way the faintly flickering light made it seem as though foul growths were actually _moving_. Then- _then_ , she spotted who he was talking to - recognised the robes, long deep crimson things decked with jewels and trimmed with the furs of some exotic beast; recognised the mask, made from a warped gold-coloured metal, that seemed to swim the more you stared at it - an optical illusion that carried over even in the holo.

_those eyes which judge, those teeth which bite-_

'You have company, Lord Tagriss. An arrogant Sithling approaches.'

(her heart pounded in her throat; she tried to swallow it, and nearly choked)

Tagriss turned to look, at that - glaring right at her. ' _Wrath_. I was wondering when Acina's lapdog might come crawling here. I shall grant you her head, Dread Lord,' he added, his attention back on _them_ , 'and-'

'No,' They- ( _She_?) interrupted, 'Take the arrogant Wrath alive. It is foreseen that she will serve us. Kill her slaves, if you must. But we desire her intact.'

( _we will meet again-_ )

Tagriss didn't look best pleased by that instruction - but he deferred anyway. 'As you command, Dread Lord.'

The connection cut, at that, the holo blinking out - _They_ disappeared, their image gone but their presence, Eirn was certain, far from the same. Her heart refused to stop pounding, entirely irrationally; her saber threatened to fall from her grip, even as she tightened it - _especially_ , somehow, as she tightened it.

'You hear that, Wrath? You will yet serve a greater purpose,' Tagriss crowed, drawing and lighting his saber - a deep red thing that crackled noisily, and which did nothing to improve the ambience of his sanctum.

Eirn just snorted, attempting to portray a bravado she did not feel. It was easier, now _that Their_ image was no longer burning itself into the corner of her sight, but only marginally so. 'I would sooner die than serve _them_ ,' she retorted - feebly, but did so, all the same.

Tagriss just smiled. 'As you insist, Wrath.'

He didn't hesitate - didn't give her any chance to make the first move, lashing out at her with lightning fast enough that she failed entirely to catch of block it with her saber. When it struck her, it threw her completely off balance - was heavier, somehow, striking at her with more than if it had been merely _him_ , and when the power earthed itself, it was through _her_ \- spasming her muscles, buckling her knees and leaving her staggering and reeling. 

_The Seeds,_ she realised - remembered, dimly. _He's been using them-_

That thought was interrupting by his laughter - and then by being lifted and tossed by the Force, as easily as if she'd been a ragdoll, before being tossed towards the entrance of his basement lair. Her fall was broken by one of the growths that had sprouted up around the room - though it felt oddly forgiving as Eirn collided with it, the surface of the thing bending and bowing under her. 

For a moment she was grabbed by the conviction that it was another shell-sac - that it was going to burst, that some other nightmarish creature would come staggering out - and then she realised that it was _moving_ , the growth that she'd landed on not a static, stagnant thing but almost _alive_. That was not an improvement - especially when it tried to curl around her, even as she scrambled away from it. Once it realised that she'd moved, though, the growth - the tentacle-tendril-thing, slick and black and _warm_ \- pulled sharply backwards, before abruptly slamming towards her, crashing towards the ground. 

Eirn moved, barely - dodged, as that twisted _thing_ crashed into the ground, cracking the tiles under the almost-blood that covered them. Eirn just lunged at the tentacle as it hit the ground - swung her saber at it, hacking a gouge into the unliving growth that made it twitch - that made _something_ scream, an unholy screeching noise that clawed at Eirn's ears in pain. The tentacle-growth-thing tried to lash out at her again - with less luck this time, the gouge Eirn had cut into it causing the end to flop aimlessly and awkwardly, leaking that black-almost-blood as barely-cauterised wound tore itself back open.

Eirn took another swing at it, slicing all the way through - the truncated tentacle flopping awkwardly to the ground, _splashing_ where it hit the almost-blood and twitching, as it hit the ground, before falling still. The stump it left behind kept twitching - trying to lash out, she could only assume, unable to understand that it couldn't, any longer - black and cauterised and _reeking_ , not that the stench was any different to the rest of the rotten air in this place. Eirn's attention, though, was back on Tagriss, who'd ducked back around his workbench, siphoning power from the not-so-dormant Seed that lay there - who had surrounded himself with a bubble of it that deflected blaster fire and hurling handfuls of it at anyone who looked as though they might be attempting to pose a threat.

His focus, in that moment, was all on Jaesa, who was struggling against one of the foul tentacles - who was distracted from Tagriss entirely, and barely managed to duck in time when Vette screamed at her to move. The pulse of energy still missed her, though, hitting one of the Jedi crystals instead, as well as the growths that had curled around it. The crystal didn't earth it, though - seemed to _absorb_ it, pulsing for a moment before shattering - violently fragmenting, shredding the growths which had curled up around it - which twitched and bled and retreated into themselves. The whatever-it-was they'd grown from shrieked in pain - howling, the growths that filled the room twitching and writhing as- _whatever_ it was that had spawned them tried, fruitlessly, to lash out - to pull away, to attack, to defend itself.

Inspired, Eirn turned her focus onto the crystals - grabbed at one of the larger free shards with the Force, and hurled it at Tagriss - at the Seed, which it hit \- exploding with a louder, sharper _crack_ , sending shrapnel scattering around the room - sent _Tagriss_ ducking to avoid the fragments of crystal, before he finally turned on Eirn.

' _Wrath_ ,' Tagriss roared, rounding on her - leaping to her position, saber out, 'Arrogant, _ignorant_ wench! I will enjoy seeing you broken to the Master's service,' he hissed, _leering_ at her as he pressed his attack, their sabers sparking and humming as they clashed. 

It was impossible for nausea not to roll through her at that thought - at the glint in his eye, at the images that blossomed through her mind and she stumbled, momentarily overwhelmed.

'You,' he hissed, 'are _pathetic_ ,' - and he grabbed at her, at that, with the Force - with the energies he'd drawn from the Seed, dangling her by her throat (crushing it, even as her nausea tried to push up through it from her stomach).

She grabbed at that nausea, though - pulled the energy from it, twisting it around to something she could use and abruptly breaking free from Tagriss's grasp, stumbling backwards a little as she fell to her feet but focused immediately on _him_. 

(Jaesa, across the room, was trying to free another crystal from one of the crates, with assistance from Pierce; Vette trying to provide covering fire while Broonmark hacked at one of the squealing, thrashing growths; Malavai, his scanner in one hand and blaster in the other, trying to get a clear line of sight on Tagriss)

Tagriss had focused back on her, too - had his own saber out and ready, as did she, but neither of them wanted to be the one to blink. Eirn ended up being the one to move - slowly, not so much to close the gap as move herself out of reach of one of those squalling tentacles; Tagriss mirrored her, unconcerned about the vile things that crawled around his basement lair.

' _Why_ , Tagriss?' she asked, as they circled - as she held her saber out defensively, bracing herself for an attack.

' _Why_?' he repeated, almost laughing at the question.

'Why serve them? Why throw everything away?' 

'Wrath,' he replied, 'Look around you. _This_ ,' he said, 'Is why.'

Eirn glanced around Tagriss's basement again, underwhelmed at his line of reasoning. The Seed's growths twitched and writhed, bleeding where they'd been wounded in the fighting (by her, by her crew, by the shattering crystals) and curling in on themselves where they hadn't; the air stank, the Force screamed, and _nothing_ about this place seemed like a testament to achievement.

(She caught Jaesa's eye, just for a moment; neither of them said anything, neither of them had the time to)

'All I see here,' she replied, 'Is corruption and decay. And arrogance,' she added, 'Of course.'

Tagriss just laughed, at that. 'As always, girl, you see, but you do not comprehend. But what do I expect,' he added, 'From the feeble Wrath of a dead Emperor?'

Eirn didn't reply to that, not verbally - just struck at him again, pushing him back towards his altar-forge. It was a risky move; the Seed still hung there, leeching its vile energies into the air around it, and Eirn could _feel_ Tagriss siphoning them off as he got closer (could feel them calling to _her_ , too - power, the alien beat of a rotten heart that hummed with the same frequency as the numbness that still lingered in her saber arm). It was why he let her push him - arrogance, pure and simple, the belief that she was stupid (little more than blaster bolt, fired blindly at a target and then forgotten-) and he was the grand architect of some mad, depraved, wonder.

He abruptly grabbed at her, once he felt himself in safe range of his altar - crushing her throat, not just with the Force but with the foul power he was siphoning from the Seed and it took everything Eirn had to push him back - to prevent her throat from collapsing completely under the pressure.

'A pity,' Tagriss muttered - sneered, 'You might have amounted to something, if you ever thought before you acted.'

Eirn, though, just laughed, or something close to it - which alone gave Tagriss pause. 'Funny,' she replied - pushing back against the hold with all she had (aware, peripherally, of Malavai attempting to suppress his panic - trying to line up a shot at Tagriss that would get past the Seed's barrier, and only succeeding in hitting that foul shield - of Vette shouting any number of Ryl profanities as she only managed the same), 'I could say the same thing.'

He didn't get it \- supposed her delusional, she guessed, at best - and then he did and it was far too late, the crystal Jaesa had been working to free (half her height, and half that again in width; impressive to be sure) shattering as it hit the Seed, the resultant explosion throwing the Seed one way and Eirn and Tagriss the other.

He took the brunt of the explosion, and she broke their fall - wincing first as she hit the ground and then as he hit her, the Seed's power abruptly removed from his equation, and shards of the Jedi crystal embedding themselves in his exposed flesh in a way that _had_ to hurt. Eirn didn't waste any time, though - pushed him off her, before stumbling slightly clumsily to her feet - coughing and gasping ungracefully at the rotten air, and trying her best to steady her breathing (pulling at her saber from where it had fallen to the ground, and shaking it free of the filth that coated everything in this place).

'I am not feeble,' Eirn managed, pulling herself to her full height - lighting her saber again as she did so, 'And the Emperor is not-'

'He's _dead_ , Wrath. Your own Master knew this,' Tagriss gasped, interrupting her - obnoxious to the very end, 'and rather than face the truth, you cut him down. You'll see,' he wheezed, 'Soon enough.'

'The Emperor is not dead, Tagriss,' Eirn repeated, bringing her saber to bear. ' _You_ are.'

-

'So... that's it?'

Vette, source of all the awkward questions in the galaxy. Eirn was certain that if they could somehow harness them as a power source, the Empire would never want for fuel again.

'The Seeds,' Eirn just replied - taking Tagriss's saber, but stopping short of the man's head. Acina had requested it, but she wasn't sure how literal the Councillor had been; besides which, heads were messy things to take as trophies, and - given the nature of his betrayal - Eirn suspected that Acina would be just as satisfied with his saber. 'Otherwise, yes.'

'Vette,' she added, 'Do you have your stealth generator?'

'Always,' Vette replied, her hand going straight to her belt. 'What'cha need?'

'Head back up to the surface. I want to know if we can expect any opposition on the way out. And if it's clear,' she added, 'comm the base, see if we can get a shuttle up here.' If nothing else, trekking back through the ruins to the waystation would make them a target, and she didn't fancy making the Republic's job any easier than she had to.

'Sure thing, boss,' Vette replied - all too eager, apparently, to blip out of visibility. 'Toodles!'

'What about-' Jaesa started, watching as Vette's footprints headed out towards the exit.

'The rest of us,' Eirn added, 'Will be taking the Seeds.' In their containers. Out of here. Finally.

-

Leaving the Temple was easier than entering it had been; was like surfacing, extremely slowly, out of that fetid, rotten place. She'd been wrong, Eirn realised; the Temple was already corrupted, rotten at its core - Tagriss hadn't even needed to plant any of the Seeds. Just unleashing their power through whatever it was he'd been up to was enough to make it a place that wasn't even light or dark, but simply an... _abomination_ in the Force, something that had been made to ape the darkness but which only ended up as something even worse. It wasn't any wonder that the Emperor had never ordered them deployed; whatever it was that these things brought to fruition, it certainly wasn't anything that the Sith loved of the Force.

She kept these thoughts to herself, though; stewed in them, quietly, as they made their way back up to the ground level. There was probably some great, profound philosophical point to be made in all of this - if Eirn had any inclination towards making philosophical points, or the linguistic finesse with which to make them. Mostly, she was just glad it was over - _almost_ over - and she could go back to simply having nightmares in her sleep, instead of having to navigate them during the day, as well.

It was never that easy, though - was never late enough for a obstacle to throw itself in her way, and Eirn could have sworn she _felt_ the Force tisking at her impatience.

'Master,' Jaesa murmured, as they left the surface lifts, 'Do you feel that?'

Eirn paused, reaching out cautiously in the Force. Vette's presence hovered nervously outside the entrance, but there'd been no report from her - but more than that, something flickered. Something _burned_. Faintly - as if concealing itself, rather than as if distant, but there all the same.

'Jedi,' she muttered darkly. Vette was still alive, which was a good sign - even if she hadn't reported in, which was a bad one, and Eirn found herself simultaneously hoping this was not connected to the Jedi and resigned to the fact that it was.

'My lord,' Malavai began, 'If there are Jedi ahead, we should store the Seeds somewhere more secure before we engage.'

There were five, including the one that Tagriss had been toying with in his basement; the Corellian one's containment unit still bore the scars from the rancor encounter, and Eirn hated that she recognised it, even as she was relieved that they'd all been here. Fighting with them in the vicinity was- well, a _risk_ , not so much because of their power as the Jedi tendency for unpleasant surprises. 

'I agree,' Eirn replied - starting to add, 'Jaesa-' and getting that far before something in the Force hummed and _snapped_. Eirn reacted immediately, as did Jaesa, lashing out with the Force - and finding herself a Jedi's throat.

The Jedi had come with a stealth generator, which shorted abruptly on contact with the Sith; wasn't one of the Jedi they'd encountered on Belsavis, but instead a slightly lanky redhead bundled up in Republic cold weather gear, and who only dangled from Eirn's grasp for a moment before pushing back, freeing herself.

She didn't stick around, either - fled immediately, with Jaesa immediately giving chase - the apprentice dropping her cargo in favour of chasing the Jedi. It made an ominous _clunking_ noise as it hit the floor that Eirn winced at and Jaesa ignored; Eirn was a little more careful in placing hers down, but still took off quickly - where there was one Jedi, there were liable to be more - and came to an abrupt halt as she stepped out into the snow, only to be confronted with the other Jedi - and by Vette.

Jaesa had come to a sharp halt, as well, on spotting Vette - who was firmly in Master Kyo's grasp, her blasters in the snow and her expression, on spotting Eirn, somewhere between relieved and apologetic. Kyo and her friends had been out here for some time, if the footprints stamped in the snow were anything to go by; there were only the three Jedi, including Awenyth and the redhead, the former of whom was pacing irritably next to a parked speeder, though Eirn didn't doubt there would be Republic backup nearby.

'Lord Wrath.' Kyo was not nearly as pleased to see Eirn was Vette was, though this came as no revelation.

'Hi, Eir,' Vette managed, laughing nervously - not appreciating being used as a hostage. 'Uh. Surprise?'

'Master Kyo,' Eirn replied dryly, her use of the honorific as sarcastic as it was anything else. 'Don't tell me you came all the way out here just to run away again?'

'Wrath,' Kyo said, ignoring the barb, 'Please. Be reasonable. If Tagriss is dead, then the threat to your Empire is gone. But-'

'The threat to my Empire,' Eirn replied, 'Is standing right in front of me, Jedi.' She didn't _want_ to fight - couldn't afford the distraction, but it was too late for that - and besides, rolling over in surrender to these arrogant Jedi was out of the question. 

'You want to hand the Seeds,' Kyo just replied - apparently not dissuaded in the least, despite this trick's failure previously, 'And let us go in peace.'

The idea was seductive; curled around Eirn's mind, tugging at every tired muscle and promising rest for every frayed nerve, if only she would let the Jedi have their way. She could be free of this obligation - could go home, her work here done, and all she had to do was-

'Just for that, Jedi,' she replied, though - fixing Kyo with a glare that was as insulted as it was annoyed, and finally lighting her saber, 'I'm inclined to send you back in pieces.'

'I told you this wouldn't work,' Awenyth muttered. 'Sith care only for themselves. She'll-'

'If she has so much as a scratch on her,' Eirn retorted, interrupting, 'I'll make all three of you repay it tenfold.'

' _Wrath_ ,' Kyo repeated, her attention all on Eirn, 'this doesn't have to-'

She was abruptly interrupted by Vette taking advantage of that distraction to activate her personal stunner, which until then had been tucked into one of her armoured jacket's sleeves - which wasn't enough to disable Kyo (her, or any other self-respecting Jedi) but enough surprise and stun her, for a moment. It was enough, though, for the tension to shatter - for Vette to duck out of Kyo's grasp, for Jaesa to grab Kyo's attention with her own saber, for Awenyth to snarl and turn on Eirn, her sabers out and lit in an instant.

Eirn didn't waste any time, raising her saber to deflect Awenyth's attack before the Jedi had even made it and immediately pushing the Jedi on the defensive, striking at her hard and fast, forcing a gap and scoring a hit. Her saber glanced along the Jedi's body armour, though - scouring it but not penetrating, scarring it without doing any real damage, and Eirn withdrew sharply before the Jedi could respond in kind. Her own armour, she was acutely aware, was less robust - provided some protection from sabers, but not as much, and the Jedi seemed as liable to abuse that as she would be. 

' _Eir! The Seeds!_ ' 

Her attention was grabbed by Vette, who had squirmed out of Kyo's grasp and was occupied with their cargo - currently being half-manhandled by the redhead, even as she was attempting to fight off both Vette and Broonmark. Eirn's attention was immediately  on them, abandoning the Mirialan distraction in favour of the redhead - who, on realising how outnumbered she was, muttered something profane and immediately took off, on the speeder and on the move in one swift movement. Eirn immediately took off after the her, dropping her own cargo and launching herself onto the rear of the speeder - sending it off balance for a moment as the redhead failed to compensate for her unexpected passenger.

'Whoa _!_ Watch what you're doing-!' the Jedi managed, shooting a glare at Eirn that was somewhere between annoyed, worried, and - somehow - impressed. 'You never struck me as the type to defect,' she added, clearly reaching for banter, 'but if you insist-'

'Cute,' Eirn snarled, clutching onto the speeder for dear life, inching her way forward until she could take a swipe at the driver, who was doing everything she could, in turn, to shake her extra passenger off - without losing her cargo, in turn.

' _Whoa- HEY!_ '

The speeder veered sharply, first as the redhead attempted to shake Eirn off and then as she lost control, the speeder rolling over entirely as it lost its balance. Eirn was thrown to the ground, landing sharply on the snow - so sharply she actually bounced, rolling before finally coming to a stop - as was the Jedi, who skidded onto the snow not far from her. The speeder didn't fare much better, either - rolling again as it collided into a snowbank, before finally coming to a halt, spilling its inanimate cargo as it went. 

'You're nuts,' the redhead managed, 'even for a Sith,' she added - shaking her head as she stood,

'And you're dead,' Eirn replied, as she staggered to her feet - reaching for her saber, not wasting her time on trading insults.

'Wait,' the Jedi started - holding up her hands, apparently trying to stall for time. 'You _really_ don't want to do this, Sith-'

Eirn, though, didn't give her a chance - drew her saber and leapt in, forcing the Jedi to defend herself - or to attack. She did both, drawing her own saber to block Eirn's blows - pushing her back from the crashed speeder, inch by inch.

'You know,' the redhead managed between blows, trying for bravado, 'That you're screwed, right?'

'Every night,' Eirn replied, chuckling to herself as she pressed the attack, 'Advantage of being Sith.'

' _Cute_ ,' the redhead retorted - matching every blow of Eirn's with one of hers. She had the advantage, though - hadn't already faced down one powerful foe today, never mind several.

Still, Eirn was not about to give up - she couldn't afford to, not now ( _especially_ not now, alone and far too close to victory - and to failure). It was sheer irritable stubbornness that kept her going - a refusal to let these interfering Jedi screw things up. She had another interference, too - Awenyth had followed them on foot, a warning in the Force that was joined a moment later by a bright green lightsaber, thrown by its owner and guided with the Force - until Eirn snatched it out of the air, pulling it into her offhand and holding it there, keeping it lit as a direct taunt.

The Jedi just snarled, leaping at her, striking at Eirn with her remaining saber; Eirn saw it coming and dodged, blocking the Jedi's attack with her stolen saber and making one of her own with hers, jabbing at the Mirialan - forcing her onto the back foot, pushing her into the retreat. Awenyth snarled again - dodged, swiping at the Sith and barely pulling back in time as Eirn cut at her with her own saber. Eirn was off-balance, though, and she knew it - was unused to fighting with two weapons, and the Jedi could _tell_. She didn't give Awenyth the chance to use that against her, though - instead deactivating the stolen saber and tossing it away to one side - out of sight and out of mind. It was a distraction of its own - an obvious one, which Awenyth ignored - pressing her attack, swiping furiously at the Sith. Her flank was wide open, though, with her second saber gone, and it was an opening that Eirn took full advantage of, dancing under the Jedi's blade to reposition herself for an attack she'd normally have easily blocked, and scoring another hit, her own saber hissing as the Jedi's armour burned.

It wasn't a victory she could relish, though - the redhead was on her, too, and she barely ducked away in time to block a flurry of blows from the other Jedi. The Force continued to scream at her as Awenyth struck at her from behind, with the redhead following suit when she turned to counter it, and scoring a hit that sent her stumbling forwards into the other Jedi. Awenyth half caught her, and half threw her away; Eirn stumbled, trying to right herself and almost succeeding - at least until Awenyth hurled her backwards with the Force, sending Eirn staggering back under dedication and determination that felt like a blow ten times worse than the surliest rancor's. Eirn just ended up flat on her back in the snowbank, badly winded and struggling to breath - to pull at her saber, to move, to do _anything_.

The Jedi didn't let up, either - leaping to her position, and landing _straddling_ her in the snow, one foot either side of her- saber out, ready to strike. Eirn pushed back immediately, terrified instinct taking over and sending the Jedi stumbling backwards, though not by much. It was enough to get Eirn a split second to move, but not much more than that - Awenyth was immediately back on top of her, bringing her saber to bear on the Sith.

Eirn scrambled - enough that the attack missed its target, scoring into the armour across her chest instead. Awenyth took what she could, though, pressing it in, even as Eirn tried awkwardly to swipe at her - with her saber (deflected by the redhead, the other Jedi's saber thrown and guided as the Force served _them_ , too) - with the Force, Awenyth staggering before pushing all the harder into her. Eirn realised it was only a matter of time before her armour gave out and grabbed at the Jedi, again, trying to not just move from under her but pushing on the Jedi's saber arm - pulling the saber as away from vital, painful parts of her as she could manage, millimetre by millimetre, Awenyth pushing back against her all the while; the saber, where it scored against her, hissed unpleasantly where her armour began to burn. It stank, too - an acrid, foreboding, overpowering smell that Eirn tried not to gag on it as it scored, endlessly slowly, away from the places that would give the Jedi an all-too-immediate victory. Awenyth half-slipped in the snow as her saber found a weak spot in Eirn's armour, where the chestplate connected to the shoulder guard and her saber found the purchase it was looking for, forced past armour never meant to be worn for saber combat, before almost collapsing onto the Sith as her saber cut through skin and bone as though they were nothing at all.

Eirn tried not to react - _tried_ not to give the Jedi the reaction she was looking for, tried to brace herself to grab the pain and redirect it somewhere useful, and failed entirely, screaming as her world whited out - as her shoulder burned, her saber arm collapsing uselessly (that small motion pulling skin and muscle around the lightsaber - every breath, every twitch, reopening and recauterising the wound which screamed with every moment and every tiny movement).

'Wow,' Awenyth just said - laughing joylessly as she steadied herself, inspecting her handiwork, 'You actually feel pain. I take it back,' she added, 'Maybe you're not the Wrath after all.'

'Or... maybe she's not like him,' the redhead suggested, lazily crossing her arms - inspecting Eirn warily. 'I mean they're both _insane_ , obviously, but-'

(Eirn could not reply, no matter how much she tried; could hardly _breathe_ , pain and danger trying to strangle her, Ilum's frigid air stabbing at her lungs and clawing at the hot, raw gouge that Awenyth's saber had left behind)

'The _Seeds_ , Kira,' Awenyth just replied, shooting the other Jedi a glare - pulling her abandoned saber hilt from where it lay in the snow and holstering both of hers, before pulling Eirn's from where it lay uselessly on the ground.

('Right, right,' the redhead muttered, turning her attention back to the crashed speeder and its stolen cargo)

_move-_

Eirn tried to focus - gritted her teeth and grabbed the pain, using it to swipe blindly at the Jedi, sending the Mirialan staggering backwards - in surprise, as much as anything, though pain and fear balled up into the Force and manifesting themselves as aimless lightning also had a role to play.

'I'll give you this, Sith,' Awenyth snarled, 'You're _stubborn_.' She lit her stolen saber at that, though - bright red, as much a warning as a taunt, brought to bear on its owner-

_move!-_

\- Eirn's saber hand twitched, but wouldn't move; pain spiked right through her, the world swimming into an unfocused white haze for a moment before rearranging itself into something slightly more coherent - the Jedi standing over her, the bright red blade that had meant all the difference between being Sith and being _nothing_ -

_MOVE-!_

\- and Eirn scrambled clumsily backwards as Awenyth tried to swipe at her, the stolen saber's blade hissing as all it hit was snow and ice. Awenyth wasn't her focus, though - it was the other Jedi, the one piling the Seed containers onto the one working speeder, and Eirn stumbled clumsily to her feet, swiping aimlessly with the Force at the thief who'd stabbed her, before returning her attention to the thief who'd stood to one side. 

Before she could do much more, though, she was screamed at to _move_ again by the Force and (there was blood, she realised, faintly - running down her armour, dripping onto the snow - bright red _, too_ red -and-) she moved, clumsily and far too slowly and something ( _Awenyth_ , she knew and realised, far too late) grabbed her saber arm with the Force and wrenched it, hard - tearing at her shoulder, tearing that searing burn wide open, tearing another scream from her as she crumpled, first falling awkwardly as she pulled on her shoulder and then simply falling awkwardly, dangling by her arm for a moment that went on far too long before landing on the snow with a crack that echoed all the way through her.

(' _Hey! JEDI! Pick on someone your own size!_ ' - Vette, impossibly, her voice heralded by the roar of a speeder and punctuated by bolts of blaster fire, and the sound of something important blowing up from the direction of the crashed speeder)

Eirn tried to move - _had_ to move, gritting her teeth and grabbing at the pain that kept stabbing through her shoulder every time it shifted and using it to try and prop herself up - to try and _pull_ herself up, reaching for her saber with her mind and only managing the feeblest of tugs before she flopped backwards into the snow, landing awkwardly on her injured arm - sending a fresh bolt of pain through her, that didn't have the good grace to fade away but instead lingered, gnawing at her awareness. She lay there, for a long moment, trying to gather her strength - trying to reach for what hadn't already bled down her front and dripped onto the snow, leaving a bloody mess in her wake - trying to make herself look up (make herself _get_ up - get her saber back, and- _fight_ back, don't just lie there, you're a _Sith_ , not-)

('My lord,' Malavai was saying, distantly, 'Can you hear me? Please, stay with me-')

It hurt, though, so much, and the snow felt so much better than she'd thought it might, and Eirn just let herself fall back, looking up at the cold night sky - wondering if she wished on a shooting star it would really come true. Wondering if you could see Dromund or Zibest from here. Wondering why she never took the time to simply lie back and take in the cosmos. _For all the time I spend in space,_ she realised, _I never seem to find the time to just..._

(' _-Eihn, please, look at me, don't-_ ')

This planet really _was_ beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated ♥


	17. Restoration

_Drowning, somehow, in air - sinking and floating simultaneously, pulled in every direction and none at all - weighed down, and weighing nothing; snow, in the starlight, red and white and beautiful-_

-

Realising she had no idea where she was - and with no clear memory of how she'd gotten there - had never been a pair of circumstances that had ever put Eirnhaya at ease. Waking up in the dark, stiff and aching - heavy and limp, lying between sheets that were far too rough and breathing air that was far too cold (that smelled of pain and waiting and ice-cold cleanliness) - it was like a laundry list of things that left her deeply unnerved, and ever more on edge.

( _unarmed_ , part of her mused, _and unarmoured, and-_ )

The best thing that she could say about the situation was Malavai; lying next to her on the unfamiliar bed, wearing sleeping clothes, unusually even for him - under a different blanket to hers, even as he was cuddled up next to her, sound asleep, one arm looped protectively around her waist, while the other was folded under his head.

That he was there made her smile a little, at the very least; was proof that _here_ wasn't hostile territory, and that it even, for now, might be almost some approximation of _safe_. 

She tried to shift herself, experimentally; lifted her head a little to look around _here_ , trying to figure out exactly where _here_ was. The room she was in was dark, and quiet; there was the faint murmur of air conditioning, but no hum of engines. There was the light sound of rain against a window, too; all that filtered past the window's curtains was moonlight, though, and the occasional lights from what she assumed was a passing speeder.

_Planetside somewhere. Kaas? This isn't the apartment, though-?_

She closed her eyes again, for a moment; reached out with her mind, brushing against that too-clean smell and coming up with pain and sick anticipation and the unnatural sleep of kolto. She was in a medical facility, she realised - a hospital, probably. That just raised all sorts of unpleasant questions of its own, though; waking up in the privacy of the _Pathcarver_ 's medbay was bad enough, but here-

Her stirring, though, was enough to wake Malavai - who apparently slept ever more lightly.

'Hello,' she murmured, smiling faintly. 'Sorry,' she added, 'Didn't mean to wake you.'

'Hello,' he replied - kissing her, gently, pressing their lips together for a moment that didn't last nearly long enough. 'Shh,' he added, gently squeezing her. 'I find it difficult to sleep in this place, anyway.'

'Where... _is_ this?' Eirn managed, awkwardly - not that this was a question that could ever be asked in a less than awkward manner.

'We're on Kaas,' he replied, concern flitting across his expression - his aura. 'You... don't remember?'

Eirn closed her eyes, for a moment, trying to dredge through her memories. 'I remember- the fighting on Ilum,' she started, 'outside the Temple. And...'

...s _omething crushing- soothing, ensnaring, caressing, consuming-_

'You were- badly injured,' he added, after giving her a moment to continue that thought herself. 'You lost a lot of blood. I was...' he managed, trailing off; his eyes - when she looked back up to them - looking at her with a pained, searching expression.

'While I like to think I am a competent field medic,' he started, 'Your injuries - particularly to your shoulder - were... beyond my capabilities. I-'

'My shoulder-?' Eirn started, alarmed - remembering, abruptly, the searing pain as the Jedi had driven her lightsaber into it - the unfettered hatred in Awenyth's expression, the razor-sharp cold of Ilum's frigid air. 'It's-?' she added, trying to shift to look - trying to twitch her arm, and only coming up against numb, slightly painful stiffness. 

'Hey,' he started, 'Eihn- You're alright,' he added, trying to calm her. 'It's healed. You were in kolto for a while, but- it's healed,' he repeated, a little clumsily.

'It feels numb,' she murmured, slightly distantly - picking through the jumble of sensations in her memories, and not coming up with much useful.

'Like I said,' he replied, 'You've been in kolto. Doctor Rylis brought you out of it yesterday,' he added, gently.

Rylis was a name Eirn knew; a Sith woman, in every sense of the word, who'd tended to Eirn's more serious injuries in the past. Sith medics and healers were not uncommon, despite Jedi stereotypes to the contrary; Jaesa's first visit to an Imperial hospital had been enlightening, for any number of reasons. 

'I hate kolto tanks,' she muttered, closing her eyes and leaning against him. They made her slow, and stupid; left her with gaps in her memory, left her vulnerable, created too many unknowns.

'I know,' he replied, 'But it was... necessary,' he added, slightly awkwardly.

She shifted a little at that, finally; managed, with a little assistance, to roll onto her side - grateful, all the while, that she didn't have to lean on her injured arm to end up facing Malavai.

'They let you- stay here?' she added - she wasn't sure what the usual policies of Imperial medical facilities were, but she doubted they allowed for couples - especially unmarried ones, even if there was a Sith involved - to share a bed, especially one that had been clearly designed for a single patient.

(She remembered, vaguely, visiting her mother in hospital as a child; the way she and her father had both been required to wear masks and overalls, and the lecture her father had gotten from the nurse for sneaking so much as a kiss with his wife)

'You- requested it,' he replied awkwardly - adding, 'I had not intended to inform Doctor Rylis of our... _relationship_ , but you were- quite insistent. You don't remember any of this...?'

'No,' she admitted, after a moment. 'Sorry,' she added - before continuing, 'I'm- glad you're here, though.' It was better than waking up alone - anywhere, never mind somewhere that was an unknown.

He smiled, at that; she could _feel_ it, even if he was barely visible in the scraps of moonlight. 'My place is always by your side, my Eihn,' he murmured, 'For as long as you will have me.'

'Damn straight,' she replied, smiling a little to herself. 'Get under my blanket,' she added, sleepily, 'I want to cuddle properly.'

'Eihn,' he started, 'I-'

'Please?' she added - not a very Sith word, no, but one that got results.

He still hesitated - but complied, after that moment, and as cramped as the bed was, the moment when there was nothing left between them but thin nightclothes was a good one.

'Much better,' she murmured, cuddling up against him - gingerly looping her arms around him, weaving their legs together, pressing a kiss to his lips, finally able to lose herself in _them_.

Malavai just smiled a little as they kissed; returned the gesture, holding her close, apparently at least as happy about this adjustment as she was.

'Get some sleep, Eihn,' he murmured, though - running his fingers through her hair, for a moment, before simply going back to looping his arms around her.

'Hm,' she just replied, closing her eyes - curling up against him, as close as she could, convinced that she wouldn't sleep for hours, yet, and immediately refuted by her own overwhelming exhaustion.

-

_water, pressed against skin; a hand, pressed against air, not quite hers but not quite not-hers, and struggling all the while against the light-_

-

When she next woke, it was with a start - with a momentary panic, the Force screaming at her that she was alone and that there was a _stranger_ there and that she was injured and that this was not an ideal situation in the slightest, that she needed to _move_ and fight and she was unarmed and far, _far_ too vulnerable.

What didn't help was that the stranger the Force had been screaming at her about was bent over her - was _Sith_ , in both the red and the Force-sensitive definition, and set off every one of Eirn's defensive instincts as a result. The Force crackled, in that moment, entirely unpleasantly - startling the intruder as much as it did her, though the other Sith at least had the presence of mind to pull away.

'Lord Illte! You're- awake,' the Sith started - visibly startled, even if she rearranged her expression rather quickly into one of patient calm. Her aura didn't follow suit, though, which did nothing to set Eirn at ease - quite the opposite. 'I didn't mean to startle you. Please, relax.'

'...Doctor Rylis,' Eirn managed, eventually - recognition coming more slowly than she might have liked, but still getting there eventually. 'I- wasn't,' she added, slowly; struggling to sit up, and only reluctantly accepting some assistance from Rylis.

Rylis was all business, too - hair pulled back into a severe bun, wearing standard-issue scrubs and looking for all the world like any blind, civilian, doctor - albeit one with crimson skin and bright orange eyes. She'd had the good sense to pull back from Eirn, at least - to allow her plenty of space, even if it wasn't quite enough to stop Eirn feeling cornered.

'Well,' Rylis replied, amused, 'You certainly seem more lucid than you were yesterday. Do you know why you're here?' she added, studying Eirn carefully - reaching for a datapad.

Eirn did not like anything about this conversation, but grit her teeth anyway.

'We were... on Ilum,' she started, slowly - unsure how much of this Rylis knew, or - for that matter - was _allowed_ to know. 

'I was-' she added, pausing - hesitating as she brushed over the memories, dancing around the pain, just for a moment. 'I took a- lightsaber in my shoulder,' Eirn managed, finally \- wincing as she glanced at it, even if all she felt there was a numb discomfort. 'Malavai said that it was healed...?'

Her shoulder itself was hidden from view - beneath the hospital gown, beneath a supportive bandage. Eirn could feel the way the Force flowed through her body - through her arm, and it didn't feel as- _wrong_ as it had done, but that meant nothing by itself.

'There was no permanent injury, no,' Rylis replied, offering Eirn a smile. 'Your medics should be commended. I'm afraid to report that there is some scarring on the entry site; if this is of concern, I can arrange for a consultation with one of our plastic surgeons, but-'

Eirn just made a small, slightly dismissive gesture; scars were nothing new, and among Sith, hardly things to be ashamed of. 'There's no need,' she replied - before pausing, at that, to look at the palm of her saber hand. The ghost of the burn could still be seen; couldn't even properly be called a burn, so much as a discoloured blotch across her palm, but even that had faded.

Rylis just nodded to herself as Eirn talked, oblivious to that train of thought. 

'You have healed well, Lord Illte, though I would like to perform a full examination before I discharge you. Normally, I would require that a patient recovering from your injuries remain in hospital for observation, however-' she added - catching Eirn's eye, and smiling slightly wickedly, 'I know the futility of ordering a Sith Lord to rest. I would still ask, though, that you try to avoid picking fights with Jedi for the next couple of weeks.'

'They pick fights with me,' Eirn replied, making a dismissive gesture. 'I finish them.'

Rylis smiled thinly, but made no comment on that. 'As you say, Lord Illte,' she just replied - a judgement in itself, and one that Eirn ignored. 'Would you like me to proceed with the examination, or would you prefer to wait? Your Captain is just outside,' Rylis added, glancing to the ward's door - closed, currently. 'He had to take a holocall,' she added, 'but I can fetch him, if you'd prefer.'

Eirn paused, for a moment - reached out, gingerly, and only relaxed the tiniest amount when she found Malavai's presence lingering outside the room - a knot of nerves and tension, but this was nothing new. If anything, it was reassuring - a shred of normalcy in a world of unknowns.

'I'd rather get it over with,' Eirn replied, sighing to herself. The sooner she could leave this place, the better.

-

There were flowers on the nightstand - Ressa lilies, deep purple blooms with blood red stamens. Eirn's smile at the flowers became rather bemused when she saw the card, though - and the greeting in it, handwritten and signed with a far-too-personal flourish.

'Darth Acina sent flowers?'

'And a small listening device that Vette picked up,' Malavai replied, dubiously. 'I suspect that she wanted to keep close tabs on you during your recovery.'

He'd been quick to help Rylis finish up, and quicker to help Eirn dress; she suspected that he wanted her out of this place almost as much as she wanted to leave it herself. _If only_ , she mused, _because even the ship's bed is more comfortable._

'So what happened to the bug?' Eirn asked, putting the card back with the flowers, and wondering which of Acina's underlings had been tasked with delivering them.

'I don't know,' he replied, 'And I'm not certain I wish to, either.'

_Plausible deniability_ , Eirn mused to herself, smiling a little. One day, the two of them might admit that they made a good team.

'Well,' she added, aloud, 'she has an _... interesting_ choice in flowers.' Ressa lilies were a quintessentially feminine bloom, named for the surrendered Queen of some conquered world that escaped her memory in that moment. Eirn's theatrical childhood had left her with at least a partial understanding of the language of flowers; Ressa lilies were particularly associated with capitulation to a greater power, but also with acts of great sacrifice in moments of desperation.

'You... think she was trying to send a message?' Malavai replied, furrowing his brow. This apparently wasn't the first time he'd contemplated this, and Eirn didn't doubt for a moment he'd been busying himself checking every discreet avenue of enquiry he could find - though for what, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

'Perhaps,' Eirn mused \- taking a moment to scent the lilies, and smiling to herself a little. For all their negative connotations, their perfume had always been one of her favourites; one of their neighbours had cultivated the lilies when she was a child, and they always smelled, to Eirn, of high summer. 'Or perhaps she just thinks I might like the colour.'

It was certainly unusual - and unusual, with Sith, meant _troubling_ , but Eirn had too many more immediate problems to worry _much_ about Acina's taste in flowers.

'Malavai,' she added, 'You have nothing to worry about. You're the only person in the galaxy that I want. I swear it,' she added - pulling him in close, before he could object.

For a moment, he looked as though he was about to deny it - that he'd worried, that it had even occurred to him. 'You have- said as much previously, my love,' he managed - before sheepishly admitting, 'Though that is... reassuring to hear.'

_And one day, he might even believe me._

'Come on,' she said, planting a quick kiss on his lips, 'Let's get out of here.'

-

' _Eir! You're back! You're not dead!_ Did they give you a robot arm? Can I see it? Is it gross? Did you get any fun meds? Do you have new _scars_? Can I see?'

Vette, of course, was waiting for her in the apartment's entry hall - and pounced, like a bored, hyperactive blue manka cat, full of energy and questions.

'Vette,' Malavai started, 'You know full well that Lord Illte does not have a prosthetic arm. And even if she was prescribed medication,' he added, 'It would be for her use only, and not-'

'One day,' Vette said, poking at him, 'I'm gonna catch you saying her actual name. Oh! Hugs?' she added, as Eirn scooped the Twi'lek up in her arms - a gesture that Vette happily returned, enthusiastically throwing her arms around the Sith.

'No fun meds,' Eirn replied, 'And no, you can't see my scars,' she added, smiling to herself as she let Vette go.

'You're no fun,' Vette said, pulling a face. 'Jae's out, by the way. She went to help her parents with- something,' she finished, frowning. 'They did say. Ooh, you kept the flowers!'

'Leaving them seemed a waste,' Eirn replied, smiling a little. 'I was thinking about putting them in the kitchen,' she added. 'They'll look nice on the table.'

Leaving them would also have been a snub, and one that would have gotten back to Acina - who wasn't someone Eirn wanted to upset _just_ yet.

'I can get that for you,' Vette replied immediately, offering to take the flowers. 'I was going to put caf on anyway. Oh,' she added, 'Darth Lipstick left a message, she wants to see you-'

'I will go to see Darth Acina tomorrow,' Eirn replied, before Vette could get any further with that thought. 'Anyone else who wants me,' she added, 'Will have to join the queue.'

'Okay. Sure. Did you, uh,' she added, glancing between Eirn and Malavai, 'want caf, or- no, what am I saying, you're going to go and be gross somewhere, aren't you,' she finished, sighing melodramatically.

'Exceedingly gross,' Eirn replied, smiling. 'But thank you, Vette.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Vette replied, making a dismissive gesture - taking the flowers, finally, and turning to leave, 'Whatever. I'll be down here,' she added, 'Listening _very loudly_ to Shyriiwook death metal.'

Eirn couldn't help but smile, even as Vette left; Malavai, she knew, would likely never cease being frustrated with the Twi'lek, but she was also quite certain that a part of him enjoyed it.

'My lord,' he started, 'I really wish you did not encourage her childishness. It doesn't become _either_ of you.'

'Perhaps,' she replied, smiling to herself a little, 'But you have to admit that we _do_ make a mess sometimes. Besides,' she added, 'I need to take a bath.' She smelled of _hospital_ , and while it was a better smell than some which had clung to her, of late, it was still less than pleasant.

'Of course, my lord,' Malavai replied, his attention back on his overnight bag. 'I'll-'

(He'd blushed a little at the first part of her remark, and was all the more distracted by the second, even if only one of those was a deliberate provocation on her part)

'And you,' she added, 'need to join me.'

-

There was something gloriously decadent, Eirn was certain, about taking a long, hot bubble bath in the middle of the day. Listening to the rain pelting against the windows, lying in her lover's arms as he nuzzled the crook of her neck, planting small kisses everywhere his lips could reach, and gently tracing his fingertips over everywhere they couldn't.

(As his hands wandered over her, tracing old scars and familiar ridges; as hers wandered over him, venerating dark hair and taut muscle, reacquainting herself with every inch of him - as he, in turn, meticulously refamiliarised himself with every inch of her)

-

The calm didn't last; it never did, peace as much a lie here as it was in any other place. Malavai, of the two of them, seemed the more determined to take things easy - an unusual state of affairs, and one Eirn strongly suspected was mostly aimed at attempting to make _her_ rest. She'd done too much sleeping, though, of late - felt energised, in an impatient, impulsive sort of way. Pressing Malavai for the details of what she'd missed after passing out did not do anything to abate this; if anything, the news that the Jedi had been injured (and indeed driven off) but not defeated gnawed unpleasantly at her.

'So they got away,' Eirn muttered - 'with my lightsaber,' she added, sourly.

'My lord,' he began, defensively, 'You were critically injured. A lightsaber can be replaced,' he added. 'You can't.'

Eirn just stared at him for a moment, taken slightly aback by his response - before realising that he'd taken it as a personal criticism.

'I'm not- angry with you,' she said, unable to keep her irritation out of her tone. 'And... at least we didn't lose the Seeds,' she added, deflating a little - which was the main thing. Eirn didn't like to think what might have been in store for her, had she failed; some fate endlessly worse than kolto tanks. 

'But that _Jedi_ ,' she added, failing not to snarl, 'Who stole my fucking _lightsaber-_ ' - her spare, yes, but- it was _Sith_ , properly Sith - the one she'd taken from Korriban, the one she'd become Sith with, the one she'd killed Baras with, and she hated it and it was _hers_ and the fucking Jedi had _taken_ it like some kind of fucking _trophy_ -

(had been going to execute her with it, a thought that sobered her entirely, for at least half a moment)

Malavai just watched her as she fumed; he didn't get it, and probably wouldn't even if she tried to explain. A lightsaber was more than a tool, for all she tried to pretend otherwise - it was a symbol, it was an extension of a Sith's will, it was what set her apart from some bumbling acolyte or force-blind Guardsman, it was unforgiving and deadly and beautiful and _Sith_ and knowing that it was out there, somewhere, in the hands of a Jedi who seemed to hate her - a truly Sith lightsaber, in the clutches of some ignorant fucking Jedi, who would probably destroy it given half a chance, or - worse yet - show it off to all her shitty Jedi friends, embellishing the tale all the while about the pathetic would-be Wrath she'd taken it from-

(She understood, finally, some fraction of the hatred Baras had nursed towards that idiot Jedi he'd had her track down on Hoth; the one who'd stolen his own saber, so many years before)

'You're alive,' he replied, eventually - disrupting her angry, self-important train of thought. 'And you have your other saber,' he added - the one that had burned out on Belsavis.

'It needs repair,' she said, sighing - as did she. Perhaps there was some lesson here she was failing to learn; reading omens from the Force had never been a strong suit of hers. For a student of the arts, she'd always been blunter - and far more obtuse \- when it came to her own dramas. 'But you're right,' she added, slightly dubiously, 'I suppose.'

'I can have Vette or your apprentice pick up parts from the market,' he added, slipping his arms around her waist - pressing a kiss to her forehead, and holding her close, 'If you'd like.'

Eirn just shook her head, though. 'I'd rather do that myself. Call it a Sith irrationality,' she added, smiling a little wryly. One battery pack was much like another, but the Force flowed differently through all things, and she'd been brushing it off far too much. 

'My darling,' he replied, 'You are many things, but _irrational_ is not one of them.' He paused, though - studying her, for a moment further. 'Will you at least allow me to accompany you?'

'My Malavai,' Eirn replied, 'You are always welcome at my side, no matter where I go.'

(She meant it, too; and wasn't certain, in the moments after, if she was more surprised by the sentiment - or that she was, in turn, surprised by that)

-

_Everywhere_ included the Sith Sanctum; included, especially given the flowers, her debrief with Darth Acina the following day. Eirn had attended most of their previous encounters alone, for myriad reasons - but there were, equally, myriad reasons she didn't answer this particular summons without her Captain.

'Dark Lord. I understand you wanted to speak.'

Acina was actually _smiling_ \- which had to be a first, and Eirn wasn't certain that it was one she liked, either. ' _Wrath_. May I say that it's lovely to see you up and about. This is just a formality, really. The Seeds have been returned to a secure location on-'

'Please don't tell me, Dark Lord,' Eirn replied, interrupting her. 'The less I know about them, the happier I am.'

(It didn't escape her notice that Acina failed to acknowledge Malavai; she'd noticed him, but not so much as greeted him. A snub, to be sure, though how deliberate it was hinged on other questions Eirn wasn't certain she wanted the answers to)

Acina looked more than a little bemused at that request - and a lot annoyed at the interruption, though she let that slide. 'As you prefer, Wrath.' She studied Eirn for a further moment, before adding, 

'Walking away from such power... I don't know how you do it.' 

'One foot in front of the other, Dark Lord,' Eirn just replied, dryly. The truth of it was that for all their power, the Seeds repulsed her; there was nothing about them that wasn't infectious, corruptive decay. If it had been her decision, she'd have happily destroyed them, assuming that was even possible - but it wasn't her call to make, and she had no compulsion to betray this particular master.

Acina glowered, but didn't take the bait. 'Regardless,' she said, 'Your service has been exemplary. There can be no public acknowledgement, of course, but...'

'I live to serve the Empire,' Eirn simply replied, offering a small bow.

Acina snorted with something that was almost laughter. 'There are not many Sith who would say that with a straight face, Wrath. You truly are... something else.'

'Which reminds me,' Eirn said, retrieving Tagriss's saber - and offering it to Acina. 'I brought you a present. It seemed less messy than his head.'

She'd considered keeping it for herself, but Tagriss had not been _her_ enemy, not truly; besides, as Malavai had pointed out, she still had the one which had been damaged on Belsavis. Moreover, something about Tagriss's saber unsettled her; plenty about _Tagriss_ had unsettled her, and Eirn wasn't sorry to hand over the last extension of his will.

Acina took the saber, studying it for a long moment; her smile took on a slightly unpleasant tone, as she studied her traitor's weapon. 'Wrath. You shouldn't have.' 

Acina lit the saber, experimentally; it crackled just as much as it had on Ilum, its deep red blade was no less unsettling in the bright lights of Acina's own sanctum. 'Marvellous,' she murmured, deactivating it again, 'Simply marvellous.'

'As I said,' Acina purred, 'There can be no public acknowledgement of this, but I have already authorised a transfer to your accounts for expenses... and services rendered. You also have my personal gratitude - and the Emperor's, of course.'

Eirn couldn't help but smile a little bitterly at the reminder Acina had more contact with the Hand than _she_ did. 'The next time the Hand speaks to you, Dark Lord,' she replied, dryly, 'Please pass along my regards.'

'I suspect that they will contact you first, Wrath,' Acina replied, 'But I will do as you ask. May the Force serve you well.'

'And you also, Dark Lord.'

-

The Kaas City marketplace was as busy as it ever was; busier, arguably, even given the weather. Kaas City had two seasons: dry, and wet (wet, and wetter) and Eirn had never managed to tell the two apart. Malavai assured her it was the wet season (the _wetter_ season); Eirn wasn't even certain there was a difference, but deferred to his experience.

They wore waterproofs, and took umbrellas, which Eirn wasn't even certain were necessary until she stepped outside in the rain and was grateful that the temperature here never made it anywhere close to freezing. The wetter-season market hall was, at the very least, indoors; Eirn impulsively bought citrus fruit with waxy peel that smelled of home, as well as some native plums that she knew Malavai liked.

(She ate one of the plums as they walked around the market, browsing the wares; he gently chided her for making a mess, kissing the juice from her fingertips when he thought that nobody was watching them, and when she pressed her lips to his they tasted of desire and promises)

-

Eirnhaya was finally able to catch up with Jaesa, on their return; they'd missed each other several times since her discharge, and when she found Jaesa sat alone at the dining table, she took the chance to have a much-needed sit down with her apprentice.

'Jaesa. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?'

'-Master! I'm sorry,' Jaesa immediately started - jumping up from where she'd been sat - nursing a caf, and poring over a datapad. 'We were out late yesterday- Mom wanted help sorting out deliveries, and-'

' _Jaesa_ ,' Eirn just started - taking a seat opposite her apprentice, and offering her a smile, in the hope that the girl might focus. 'It's fine.'

Jaesa deflated, at that - sighed and slumped, before looking back to Eirn. 

'I'm... glad you're alright,' Jaesa added - as un-Sith as she ever was. Eirn could never quite decide if Jaesa's inability to embrace certain facets of being Sith was reassuring, or unnerving; having an entirely orthodox apprentice would have resolved that uncertainty but would also, she was sure, have resulted in a lightsaber in her spine a long, _long_ time ago. 'When you collapsed... I was still down at the temple, but- we've all been worried,' she finished a little lamely.

'That's... what I wanted to talk to you about,' Eirn replied, slowly. 'Captain Quinn informed me that you'd fought Master Kyo, but he didn't know the details. I wanted you to fill me in.'

Jaesa sat for a long, silent moment - holding her caf, her gaze dipped to the table in front of her as she tried to marshal the words.

'I failed you,' she started, 'I'm sorry, Master. I-' she added, before pausing abruptly - running out of steam, or at the very least, words.

'How so?' Eirn replied, frowning a little. 

'I couldn't do it,' Jaesa replied, quietly. 'When I fought Master Kyo again, at the Temple, I- managed to beat her, barely, and I don't know if it was because you weren't there, or-'

She paused abruptly, realising that she'd started to ramble.

'I couldn't do it,' she repeated, refusing to meet Eirn's gaze.

'Do what?' Eirn replied, even as she had a feeling she already knew _what_. She'd let enough Jedi live to tell the tale of their encounter with her; some, she regretted. Some, not so much, though that was something she tried to keep to herself.

'Kill her,' Jaesa admitted, after a long moment. 'It seemed- needless. But now she's probably- gone back to Tython, and will train others to fight against the Empire, or-'

'Jaesa,' Eirn replied, interrupting her, 'You made your decision.' And now you have to live with it.

'I didn't, though,' Jaesa replied, 'I- hesitated, and then you-'

'You acted,' Eirn said, 'regardless of my own circumstances.'

'But- I didn't,' Jaesa replied, though, 'I mean- yes, I left her, but only because Captain Quinn was- I could _feel_ it, when you collapsed...'

Eirn sighed; apparently she was going to have to spell this out for her apprentice.

'Jaesa,' she said, 'A Sith must own their decisions. There is always a choice, and you must always make it.' She caught Jaesa's gaze, and refused to let it go, even as Jaesa tried to wilt. 'Sith do not respect indecision. It's a sign of weakness, of failure, of moral vagary. Even if your hand feels forced, there is _always_ a choice of whether to obey, or to face the consequences of not - and there is _always_ the moment when your hand is free to act on its own.'

Jaesa did not look very reassured by this - rather, the opposite.

'You made a decision,' Eirn added, 'To let the Jedi live, having bested her in combat. Which, by the way,' she added, 'You should be commended for. The besting her,' she clarified, 'Not the letting her live.'

Jaesa's expression flickered, for a moment; Eirn could feel Jaesa prodding at her, with the Force. Trying to get a read on her - though to what end, Eirn could only guess. 'It wasn't just me,' Jaesa muttered, though - half sullen, half humble, and all not-entirely-Sith. 'Broonmark was there. And- Vette,' she managed, uncertainly. 'You... disapprove?' she added - just as uncertainly, watching Eirn carefully for her reaction.

'That's irrelevant,' Eirn replied, making a small, dismissive gesture. 'Whatever your choices, you made them. Own it, Jaesa. Force it,' she added, 'If you have to.' Force knew, she had; to Orsus, to Tremel, to Baras. 'But own it.'

'Fine,' Jaesa replied, forced defiance creeping into her voice, 'I made a decision to let Master Kyo live, because killing her seemed pointless. She no longer posed a threat. And- because-' she added, hesitating.

'-She was still your tutor from Tython,' Eirn replied, smiling a little. She couldn't really relate, there; there wasn't a single Sith instructor or Overseer that Eirn had ever felt particularly kind towards. Tremel was the only one she'd done real harm, outside of Baras, but letting him live had hardly been a kindness; Baras's demand for a hand had carried its own message, and one Eirn had been versed enough in Sith theatrics to read, even then.

'She's a good person,' Jaesa said, sighing. 'She's just...'

'A Jedi,' Eirn said, flatly. 'Do you think she'd do you the same courtesy, if things were reversed?'

'I don't know,' Jaesa confessed, after a moment. 'I don't think so. I- I'm- supposed to be a- Sith, after all,' she added, uncertainly.

'Perhaps,' Eirn mused. 'But,' she added, 'Perhaps not. Sometimes showing a Jedi mercy throws them off. Sometimes... it just encourages them.' Timmns had struck Eirn as the former; Karr had very much been the latter. She didn't know enough of Kyo to guess at where she lay on that spectrum - or that other Jedi who'd been with them, Kira something? - though it wasn't difficult to guess that Awenyth would have made Karr proud.

Jaesa pondered that for a long moment, her expression a sort of bemused thoughtfulness. 'So what you're saying, Master,' she said, slowly, 'Is that Jedi are as individual as Sith are.'

Eirn couldn't help but smile, at that. 'Apparently,' she replied, amused.

-

At least being planetside meant that privacy was easy to find, and keep - a necessity, when it came to certain kinds of holocalls Eirn had to make. There was one in particular that wasn't a conversation Eirn was looking forward to, at all, but- it was, at the very least, one unlikely to end in having to murder someone.

Probably.

' _Mother_.'

'Eir! What a pleasant surprise. How are you, sweetie?'

'I'm great, mother,' Eirn replied, as much irritated by her mother's eternal perkiness as by the question. 'Is Father around? I was- hoping to speak to both of you.'

Her mother shook her head. 'He's lecturing late tonight. Honey,' her mother added, frowning a little, 'Is everything alright? Are you in trouble...?'

Right - it had to be evening, there. At least, Eirn reflected, she hadn't called in the early hours of the morning.

'Actually- no,' Eirn replied, promising herself a strong drink when she was done with this, and wondering why she hadn't had one already. 'I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you remember when we met, and I introduced you to my crew, and- my Captain?'

'Your Captain,' her mother repeated, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face. 'Quinn, wasn't it?'

'Yes,' Eirn replied, sighing, 'Him.' She paused, wondering if it was too late to back out of this somehow - anyhow. 'We're- in a relationship.'

Her mother's expression shifted to one that seemed more than a little amused. 'A serious relationship?'

'A serious relationship,' Eirn replied, glaring defensively.

'I know,' her mother replied, making a small, dismissive gesture. 'What kind of fool do you take me for, Eir?'

Eirn just stared for a long, irritated moment. 'What do you mean, _you know_?'

'Well, the way he was looking at you, for one,' her mother replied, still smiling. 

Eirn wasn't sure how to even respond to that - all she managed was an annoyed, frustrated gesture directed at her mother.

'Was there anything else?' her mother added, faintly imperiously.

'Yes,' Eirn replied, irritably, 'Actually.' She paused - gritted her teeth, and- _stars_ , this was unpleasant. What she wouldn't give for an audience with Darth Baras right about now. 'I wanted to. Introduce him to you and father. Properly.'

They'd discussed the idea, of course - she'd floated it, entirely nervously, and he'd been at least as terrified at the thought, but it was a step up from 'I'll admit you exist' that Eirn felt she more than owed him. And, well- there were certain things that went along with wanting someone as a permanent fixture in one's life, and that included introductions to parents, even among Sith. _Especially_ among Sith.

Her mother didn't reply to that immediately - just smiled, slowly - and genuinely, for once, instead of slyly or imperiously. 'Honey, that would be lovely. What about dinner? I know just the place,' she added, immediately starting to hunt around for her datapad - just out of view. 'Don't worry,' she added, 'I'll be on my best behaviour.'

Dinner. With her parents. With Malavai. It was happening. Eirn couldn't help but feel as though she was on the precipice of something terrible, or at the very least, embarrassing.

'Fine,' Eirn started \- regretting this already. 'Just- remember that he's not Sith, please.'

'You know, though,' her mother added thoughtfully, ignoring that remark, 'If you're coming out here, you really should stay overnight. It won't be any problem. And there's a _darling_ creperie that's just opened down on Imperator's Avenue.'

'Uh,' Eirn just managed - realising that she'd lost control of the conversation entirely, and wondering if she'd even had it to begin with.

'Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll have Lira make you two up a room. Besides, it'll give us some more time to get to know your Captain.'

Which was not an argument in _favour_ of this arrangement, but Eirn was rapidly getting the feeling her mother wouldn't let her escape that easily.

'Sure,' Eirn just replied, deflating - defeated, at that. 'Just don't involve Darth Orsus.'

Her mother just laughed at that. 'Don't worry, honey. He's still working with Lord Nox on her latest project. I don't expect to see him back here for at least another month. The Emperor won't have any emergencies, I hope?' she added, that imperious amusement creeping back into her tone and expression. Eirn had used the Hand as an excuse to avoid engagements before; not often, but with her mother, even once was enough.

'That's what my apprentice is for,' Eirn just replied, aware as she said it that she'd lost any chance to play that card in the future. 'Mother,' she started to add, 'Please don't-'

'Don't worry, sweetie,' her mother replied, 'I won't get out the baby holos.' She paused, adding, 'It'll be lovely to see you, Eir. It's been too long.'

'You saw me on Belsavis,' Eirn replied, dryly.

'You know what I mean,' her mother replied, irritably. 'Honestly, Eir.' She paused again, though \- and smiled, relenting. 'Well, I won't keep you. See you soon, Eir.'

'See you soon, mother.'

-

Her lightsaber - her remaining, broken lightsaber - was still in pieces, its crystal sealed in a container of its own, its components pulled apart and cleaned. Eirn retreated to her gymnasium to work on it, if only because of the privacy it brought her - the soundproofed walls, the bright lights. The lack of windows; the lack of _rain_.

She didn't use a bench, this time - spread a meditation mat on the floor, instead, before sitting cross-legged on it, dressed in loose, lazy pants and a loose, lazy vest - loose, lazy clothing, even if it was not a loose, lazy task.

The lightsaber components were spread out in front of her - the broken ones, spent and burned - and their replacements, picked out from the finest the Kaas city artisans had to offer. Her saber told her journey as much as her scars did; its pommel from Tatooine, traded from a Jawa vendor for a canteen of water. The grip repurposed from Draahg's saber, pulled from his grasp on Corellia moments after she'd furiously pulled his cybernetics from his corpse. The refraction matrix stolen from a Republic supply drop on Balmorra, the crystal seating gifted from a bored functionary on Alderaan. It was a far more personal saber, in truth, than the one she'd become Sith with; simultaneously more and less Sith because of it, and a greater trophy than the one she'd lost, as much as that did little to curb her indignation.

Her crystal, when she picked it out again, was just as broken as before; burnt, crumbling round the burn and fractured to its core, but - now that she was alone, now that she was centred enough that she could focus on it - still resonating, faintly. The crumbling fragments were brushed away, first with her fingers, then with a fine brush, and she polished the fractured crystal that remained, smoothing its sharp edges and fitting it, once more, to its housing. It needed adjustment and reseating, but Eirn knew that misshapen crystals were not inherently ill suited for use in sabers; Sith generally favoured perfect, synthetic crystals, but there were plenty who used natural crystals, too. Her crystal was just as synthetic as when she'd made it, but it was - now - imperfect, too.

In the bright lights of her exercise room, it was impossible to miss the crack that ran through it, as she worked. Eirn kept expecting the crystal to fall apart in her hands, but whatever it was that had caused that crack had caused it to melt and fuse; it was changed, wounded and scarred but still, despite that, whole.

_Well, here goes nothing._

Manipulating objects with the Force had never been one of Eirn's strong points - not with any kind of finesse, at any rate. She'd always been far too blunt - far too impatient, far too bullish -far too _resentful_ of the Force itself to attune herself easily. It was something that she'd had to learn, though, in order to prove herself as Sith - something that she'd been forced to master on Quesh, trapped under half a ton of rock with nothing to protect her but cracked armour and the love of her beloved, stupid, Captain.

_Breathe. Feel the rhythm of your body, of your self, of your world. Feel the resonance at your own core; feel the crystal, feel the faint footsteps of every soul on every journey that led you to this place. Feel all things-_

-and she felt it, too, for a moment. The dark energies that had crawled up her saber arm, shattering the crystal; the hatred that had burned in the Jedi, the peace that she'd felt, lying in the snow on Ilum. The relief of that Jawa as she agreed to the barter of water, used to mix a medicine for one of their tribe - the conviction that had fuelled Draagh's final steps as he chased her on Corellia, the pride of an artisan in the Kaas market as she'd browsed their wares. The look in Baras's eyes when she'd stared him down across the chambers of the Dark Council. The look in Nomen Karr's eyes when he'd seen his padawan join them in that stinking place on Hutta. The look in Draagh's eyes when she'd crushed him on Adamas. The look in her own eyes, late at night, when the only thing she had left to face was the endless void-

\- and then the moment passed, the world clicked back into place and her saber, once again, was whole.

She hesitated for a long moment, before lighting it - wasn't even sure it _would_ , with its cracked crystal (thought, for a moment, of all those slides they'd been shown as acolytes of foolish Sith who'd blown up their hands - or worse - because they'd failed to show their sabers proper care and respect). There were ways to find out if it would without risking her own hands \- she had a perfectly functional protocol droid, even if it was on her ship. After that moment passed, though, she decided she was _Sith_ \- stood and steeled herself and ignited the saber, even if she held it as far away from herself as she could.

It lit, much to her surprise - and relief, though it hummed faintly in a way it hadn't before. The blade was changed, of course; not a surprise, given the way in which the crystal had. It was a much deeper purple than before; not the white-purple it had been, but almost violet, tinged with darker shades of purple that were nearly _black_. It crackled, too - faintly, but noticeably, its blade imperfect in a way that Sith blades never usually were - but it was Sith, all the same, and not just Sith but undeniably _hers_.


	18. Visitation

There were preparations to be made, of course, and not just personal ones. With no pressing assignments, Eirnhaya gave her crew some much-needed personal leave; it had been a while since they'd had any time for rest and relaxation, and had all more than earned it. 

Pierce requested leave to join the insurrection on Corellia, which Eirn happily granted him - on the condition that he return intact, and with at least one solid Imperial victory. Vette announced she was going to Nar Shadaa to catch up with her gang, which Eirn could not find any objection for; she followed it up by asking to borrow the ship to get there, which she could.

'No,' Eirn replied, crossing her arms decisively. 'You can get a passenger transport from Vaiken, like everyone else.'

'But! Eir!' Vette protested, and not getting any further than that.

' _No_ ,' Eirn repeated, firmly. 'I will take you as far as Vaiken, but the ship is _mine_.'

Jaesa, who Eirn was certain mostly didn't want to spend more time in Broonmark's company than was strictly necessary, asked to accompany her; Eirn consented, on the condition that the Taalz agree to accompany her. Broonmark was not enthused by this plan right up until the moment Vette got wind of it - 

'But B-man,' Vette protested, 'We had so much fun last time! And you got your new sword, remember?'

'<...We reconsider our stance.>'

'And _none_ of you,' Eirn added, realising far too late what she'd done, 'Are getting bail paid, this time.'

'<We destroy all witnesses. A worthy challenge.>'

Broonmark, of course, had an answer for everything.

-

'So... what're you and Admiral No-fun upto, huh?'

Eirn was sitting alone in the _Pathcarver_ 's conference room when Vette found her - hiding-and-yet-not, moving numbers around on a spreadsheet and not coming up with any answers she liked. Usually she left such exercises up to Malavai, but palming it all off on him felt somewhat unfair; more than that, though, it was something with which to occupy herself that wouldn't leave room for fretting about the trip ahead.

'Excuse me?' 

Eirn wasn't entirely hostile; she'd been attempting to focus on her work, and Vette's interruption had shattered her concentration, but in truth she was grateful for another distraction.

'Well,' Vette replied, bouncing into the seat opposite her, 'you've gotten rid of most of us, but Colonel Spoilsport won't admit to having anything planned, and you're being all cagey, too. So,' she said, 'What's up?'

'Nothing,' Eirn started, 'Is-'

'Oh,' Vette added, interrupting her, 'And you've been obsessively checking the weather reports for your hometown for the last week. You should really change your holonet password, by the way,' she added - far too casually.

Eirn just studied the Twi'lek for a long, mildly bemused, moment. 'It's a blessing,' she replied, eventually, 'You never went into Intelligence. On _any_ side. Fine,' she added, 'We're going to Ziost. It's- been a while since I've seen my parents,' she said, as casually as she could, 'and Captain Quinn is accompanying me.'

'You're taking him to meet your parents?!' Vette squealed, and Eirn winced at the high pitch.

'Vette,' Eirn started, 'It's really not that big a deal...'

Which was a lie, of course; it was a big deal to her, and a big deal to Malavai, and a big deal to her parents, but the one person she'd been hoping wouldn't get to made a big deal of it was- well, _Vette_. Jaesa, too, if she was honest; for all that she loved both women dearly, Eirn was nervous enough without their well-intentioned theatrics.

'Of course it's a big deal! You wouldn't be hiding it otherwise!' Vette protested, making a gesture that Eirn assumed was supposed to be disappointed.

'I wasn't-' Eirn started, attempting to protest otherwise.

'You're a terrible liar, Eir,' Vette said, interrupting her. 'I know how weird you get about your mom. Oh,' she added, perking up, 'Does this mean one of you finally proposed? OhgoshEir-'

' _Vette_ ,' Eirn said, rather tersely, 'We are not engaged. It's just- meeting my parents.' 

('just', as though such a thing were ever a _just_ )

'Aw,' Vette managed, pulling a face. 'That's too bad. Wait,' she added, 'Is this a weird Sithy thing? Like, you need to ask permission or fight a tuk'ata or something?'

'Sith do not need _permission_ to get married, Vette,' Eirn replied - not generally, anyway. Eirn knew that the noble houses tended to get picky about who their children married, but- well, that was precisely the reason her mother had been disowned.

'You know that Captain Timetable probably has it all planned out already, right?' Vette continued, oblivious to Eirn's replies. 

'I-' Eirn started \- not even sure _how_ to reply to that. He really _was_ the kind of person to meticulously plan hypotheticals - ones he feared, ones he desired, ones he simply thought probable, ones he _didn't_ think probable but which provided an interesting mental exercise. This was- well, not something they'd seriously discussed, but given the additional nervousness that had crackled in his aura ever since she'd said the words _meet my parents_ -

'See,' Vette said, poking her, 'I was right. You _have_ talked about it!'

'I am not having this conversation,' Eirn just replied, sighing. 'You are worse than my mother.'

'Am not,' Vette retorted, automatically.

'If I give you first class fare to Nar Shadaa,' Eirn added, 'Can we pretend this never happened?'

'First class,' Vette replied, crossing her arms and smiling smugly, 'Plus an expenses allowance.'

'You drive a hard bargain,' Eirn said, sighing dramatically - picking up her datapad, and authorising the transfer. 'There.'

Vette grinned, victoriously - at least until she took a closer look. 'Eir, what's that supposed to be?!'

'First class fare, and an expense allowance,' Eirn replied, her attention mostly back on her datapad.

'Of _one credit_?' Vette whined, pulling a face.

'Don't spend it all at once,' Eirn replied, unable to keep her amusement out of her tone - or expression.

'Urgh!' Vette responded, throwing up her arms in defeat. 'Fine. _Sith!_ ' she added, stalking back out into the common area.

-

It was only a short hop from Vaiken to Ziost, but Eirn spent it pacing irritably anyway; her own nervousness feeding off Malavai's, who was a knot of nervous energy at the best of times. 

'Eihn,' he said, attempting to calm her, and failing rather miserably, 'They're _your_ parents.'

'Exactly,' she replied, sighing; this would be about judging _her_ , as much as it would him. More so, she couldn't help but feel, even if she knew he wouldn't feel the same way.

-

They were met at the spaceport by Lira, her mother's- well, her mother had never made it clear what, exactly, Lira's legal status was. Aetrexis Illte had always taught her daughters to respect what she'd euphemistically called the Help; as a child, it had never occurred to Eirn to question it , and as Sith, her concerns had mostly been elsewhere. Certainly, Eirn could never recall that Lira had worn a collar, but she also knew well enough that such things were not a requirement of indentured servitude.

'Lord Eirn. It is good to see you are well. And you must be Captain Quinn,' Lira added, glancing deferentially at Malavai. 'Welcome to Ziost, sir. Your mother sends her apologies,' she continued, switching her focus back to Eirn, 'For not being able to meet you in person, but she has been unavoidably delayed.'

That came as no surprise - Eirn would have been _more_ surprised if her mother had actually made it, but she kept that thought to herself.

'Thank you, Lira,' she just replied, slightly absent-mindedly. 'Did she say anything else?'

'No, my lord,' Lira replied, 'Only that she would meet you at the house. The monorail into Adessa is operational today, my lord. If you wish, I can take your things back to the house immediately. Or, if you prefer, I can accompany you and Captain Quinn.'

Eirn, though, just shook her head. 'We'll make our own way in. Thank you, Lira,' she added again, more than happy to hand her bags over, despite her lingering discomforts.

(They took the tourist route into town - a scenic trip that bypassed the ugliest of the sprawling city outskirts, and paused at a teahouse overlooking the city's park district. It was Eirn's turn to be full of pointless trivia about her home, and Malavai absorbed it like a sponge - content, apparently, to simply listen to her talk - and to watch, in their comfortable silences, the drift of faint clouds in the afternoon sky. She took a holo of him, unawares - while he was distracted, pondering the middle distance behind an ornamental fountain and only snapped out of his reverie by her fingers shamelessly sampling his bottom)

-

Eirn's parents still lived in the townhouse she'd grown up in; if there was any one thing that unsettled her about this visit, it was returning to their street to the sight that barely anything had changed. Not all Sith families lived on grand estates, despite stereotypes to the contrary - her father's line wasn't noble in the slightest, and Eirn wasn't entirely certain that she considered this to be a bad thing.

The air here was crisp and sharp and _fresh_ in a way it never was anywhere else, even with Adessa's urban sprawl. Malavai, at least, seemed to- if not like it, then at least be able to tolerate it; he was wearing a thick jacket, per her recommendation, but hadn't found anything to complain about the weather.

'If this is where you grew up,' he mused, though, 'and this is _summer_ , I understand somewhat better why Tatooine disagreed with you so much.'

The snow on the mountains in the horizon had caught his attention on the journey in; Eirn knew that he'd been just checking the weather forecasts just as obsessively as she had, if not more so, but she supposed there was a difference in seeing something on the holonet and seeing it in person.

From anyone else, Eirn might have taken offence at that remark, but from him, it just made her giggle. 'You forget,' she said, poking him gently, 'I also had biology and arrogance conspiring against me.'

'You are hardly _arrogant_ , my Eihn,' he replied, not missing a single beat in pressing a kiss to her forehead, at that. 

(Their neighbours apparently still cultivated Ressa lilies; it was the cooler end of summer, but the flowers were still in bloom and Eirn couldn't help but smile when she caught sight of them)

-

Her father was, as Lira had promised, already home - in the living room, studying something on a datapad, when they arrived.

'Hello, father,' she managed a little awkwardly, from the doorway - half not wanting to interrupt him, and half desperate to get this moment over with.

'Eir! It's so good to see you. How are you, my darling?' he added, standing up - hugging her gently, just for a moment.

'I'm- alright, thank you,' Eirn replied - nervously, ridiculously.

Her father was, if Darth Orsus was to believed, the source of all Eirn's less than acceptable traits. He would never have been mistaken for human - his skin was far too red for that, his eyes the same deep amber as his surviving daughter - but he lacked even the smallest of browstalks or tendrils, and had none of the visible spurs or ridges so common in red Sith. He was also one of the ridiculously small number of Red Sith who was entirely deaf to the Force, though whether these things were connected was an unknown; Orsus had certainly believed as much, but even as child, Eirn had realised that her mother's Master was not, for all his bluster, any kind of scientist.

'Father, may I introduce you to Captain Malavai Quinn. Malavai,' she added, 'Major Irhan Illte, my father.'

_Don't do it. Please, for the love of the Emperor, don't-_

'Sir,' Malavai replied, apparently stuck for the appropriate courtesy and eventually settling for a faint bow. 'It's an honour to meet you.'

Her father, naturally, just smiled. 'Relax, Captain. I'm afraid my rank is more a polite fiction, these days. Come, sit,' he added, 'I've asked Lira to fetch us some tea. I trust you had a pleasant journey?'

(Eirn hated herself for it, but she was relieved that Malavai had paid enough attention to not address her father as _my lord_ ; a common slip, but one that still made her wince)

'We did, thank you. The spaceport entrance is new,' Eirn mused. 'Did something happen?'

'The Liberation Front,' her father replied, sighing. 'Perils of a University city. No casualties, thank the Emperor, but one of your mother's doctoral students spent three months in a cast.'

Polite small talk with her father came much more naturally to Eirn that it did with her mother; as a child, she'd always been closer to him, their mutual deafness to the Force providing a common ground she'd lacked with her mother. Though she and the Force were currently on talking terms, things with her father had never fallen into the unpleasantly awkward place they'd become stuck in with her mother.

Lira appeared soon enough with tea and shortcake, and disappeared again shortly afterwards; Eirn noticed, wincing guiltily as she though about how much her invisible presence hovered in this place. Her mother followed shortly afterwards, blowing in like a whirlwind of melodramatics that never, ever, changed.

'Eir! Sweetie, I'm so glad you made it,' her mother enthused, scooping Eirn up in a hug that it was impossible to escape from - or avoid. 'How was your trip here? I'm sorry I couldn't meet you at the spaceport, Darth Orsus had some last minute tasks for us and you know how he gets.'

'Hello mother,' Eirn just managed, not appreciating the hug as much as her mother might have liked, but attempting to return it anyway. 'It was- fine, thank you.'

'Mother,' she added, once her mother had released her, 'you remember-'

'Captain Quinn! How lovely to see you again,' her mother enthused - scooping _him_ up in a hug, too, which he appreciated even less than Eirn did, even if he buried his momentary terror under what Eirn could only assume was a lifetime's experience of being confronted with eccentric Sith.

'My lord,' Malavai managed, far smoother than she ever would have - offering her mother a polite bow, once she'd released him, and somehow not faltering for a second.

'Oh, please,' her mother responded, making a briefly dismissive gesture, 'There's no need for that. If Eir likes you enough to bring you here, you're practically family. Sit down, sit down. I'm sorry for being so brief when we met before. Belsavis is such a _gorgeous_ planet, though, and with such a history! Trust the Republic to muck it all up.'

'That- is what the Republic tend to do, my lord,' Malavai replied, not missing a single beat.

'Too true,' her mother replied, dramatically, 'too true. I dread to think what they'd do to the homeworlds. The mess they left Korriban in was bad enough, and _that_ was mostly that idiot Revan. _Lord of the Sith_ my foot,' she grumbled, helping herself to a piece of shortbread.

'Xi,' her father started, 'I doubt the Captain needs to hear your speeches on Revan just yet.'

' _Fine_ ,' Aetrexis grumbled, as much as her heart was not in the admonishment. 'I've had Lira make up your old room, Eir. I assume you're sleeping together?' she added, either oblivious to what she'd said - or revelling in it, Eirn couldn't tell.

Malavai was mortified, blushing a deep crimson - tried to stammer a response, and got nowhere, fast. Eirn didn't fare much better, either; Sith did not blush, but she could still feel her stubby tendrils trying to curl with embarrassment.

' _Mother_ ,' Eirn just managed - slowly dying inside from her own embarrassment, never mind Malavai's.

'Oh, _Eir_ ,' her mother just sighed, 'I'm not a child, and nor are you.'

'No,' Eirn replied, sighing herself, 'and Malavai is not a _Sith_ , as I keep having to remind you.'

For a moment, she was certain that her mother would make some further crass comment - and then the moment evaporated and her mother, for once, relented.

'My apologies, Captain,' her mother demurred, instead - offering him a faint, if imperious, head bow.

'It's- quite alright, my lord,' he managed to choke out, and Eirn just prayed this wasn't an omen for the rest of the evening.

-

Stepping inside her old bedroom was as surreal an experience as she'd expected it to be - simultaneously everything she'd anticipated, and nothing at all. Eirn had known full well that it would be different, but knowing something and seeing it for onesself was always a world apart.

'This... was your room?' Malavai managed, mildly bemused. It didn't exactly have the decor one would usually associate with young Sith; was actually rather sparsely decorated and furnished, and Eirn got the distinct feeling that it was hardly used. Not much a surprise, really, but- unsettling, all the same.

She just chuckled a little at the question, though. 'The room, yes. The furniture... not so much,' she replied - sitting down on the bed, before sprawling backwards on it. It definitely felt odd for so much to be the same, and for this place to be so... _different_.

'I- all of my things were... packed away or disposed of before I left for Korriban. It's a fairly normal rite of passage in Sith families, she added, at his continuing bemusement. 'If you pass your trials and make it as Sith, then you'll become an apprentice, and thus exist at the whims of your Master. And... if you fail,' she added, slightly distantly, 'you might get lucky and have enough left of you for your parents to bury. Assuming they acknowledge your failure at all.'

'I... see,' he replied, sitting next to her. 'Sorry, Eihn,' he added, 'I didn't mean to-'

Eirn just sat up, at that, pulling her legs up onto the bed underneath her, like a cat. 'It's fine. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss Anya, or that being back here isn't... weird,' she finished, leaning on his shoulder. 'But it's not bad-weird. Just... weird.'

A slight lie; coming back here had just reminded her why she'd never wanted to come back here, even after coming back from the dead. For one, she'd never been able to shake the feeling that her mother had wanted desperately for Anya to crawl back out from under some rock, too, even if it would have meant that she'd attempted to flee Korriban, instead of being declared missing, presumed failed. For two... so little here had changed, and so much of _everything_ of her was different.

If Malavai suspected any of this, he kept it to himself, at least; he just studied her intently, for a long moment, before changing the topic entirely. 'We should,' he mused, eventually, 'get ready, my love.'

'We should,' Eirn mused - sliding her legs out from under her, before finally standing again, and stretching.

Eirn had chosen a long, dark plum halter dress, bought for a special occasion that had never materialised and relegated to the far reaches of her closet as a result. Like all Sith dresses, it came discreetly armoured - enough stopping power for a blaster bolt, even if it could never stop a lightsaber, but lightsabers at close range came with their own problems - and solutions. Eirn's own saber had a less-than-discreet holster - another typical feature of Sith evening wear, and one she'd never entirely _liked_ , even as she'd also never ventured out without her saber.

(She realised, far too late, that her dress did nothing to hide her newest scar; it sat there, new and pink and _weak_ and she resented it and the Jedi who'd given it to her deeply)

Malavai was nervous, visibly so - kept fiddling with his gloves, once he'd dressed - with the pleated folds of his dinner jacket and the sharply polished leather of his belt.

'You look,' Eirn murmured into his ear, taking full advantage of one distraction to inflict him with another, ' _delicious_.'

Which just made a fresh wave of nervousness wash over him, along with pride that smelled like roses, and desire that smelled like the ocean - wild, and vast.

'As do you, my Eihn,' he murmured, pressing an all-too-brief kiss to her lips. 'But perhaps,' he added, far too restrained, 'we should hold _that_ thought, for now.'

-

The restaurant was new - at least, it was new to Eirn, though if the reactions of the waitstaff were anything to go by, her parents had been there before. Eirn tried to take this as a good sign; both that the food and service would have passed her mother's standards, and that her mother was yet to misbehave here in public.

'So! Malavai,' her mother started, once they were seated - a quiet corner table, private and cosy without being claustrophobic or confining, 'Is this your first visit to Ziost, or have you visited our fair world before?'

Her mother's dress, like the rest of her, was loud and provocative - bright yellow-orange silks, draped around her seemingly effortlessly in a manner that Eirn half-recognised as being popular among the Kaasi elite - Imperial fashion, rather than Sith, at least in its style. There were multiple messages being broadcasted in it - there always were, with her mother - and Eirn was just doing her best to refuse to read any of them. Like Eirn, she'd switched her usual earrings for formal, elaborate ones; unlike Eirn, this meant that her the shells of her ears were a work of art in their own right. Aetrexis Illte was many things, but _subtle_ had never been one of them.

'Actually, my lord,' he began, 'I completed the final stretch of my officer training in the Rjata Academy. Though I should add,' he mused, 'That I was, unfortunately, not afforded much time to travel.'

His nervousness tasted like green grapes, sweet and a little tart; it didn't help that Eirn could also pick out her own nerves, as well (black cherries, just as sweet but bitter, with it; apparently the Force was obsessing on fruit, tonight).

'Rjata's a good choice for ambition,' her father mused, his tone full of approval. 'I believe that two of the last four Grand Moffs graduated there.'

'Yes, sir,' Malavai replied - the honorifics attaching themselves automatically. 'Though- for the most part,' he added, wincing, 'my superiors have seen fit to use it as an excuse to try and assign me to- cold weather climes. Hoth, and the like,' he finished, making a faintly disgusted expression.

Her father, though, mostly seemed amused. 'Hoth isn't _so_ bad,' he mused, 'though I suppose that's easy for me to say. One of my former students actually located a temple dedicated to Naga Sadow under all that snow.'

'There are- a terrifying number of things _under all that snow_ , sir. I- your daughter,' Malavai continued, fumbling a little with the words, 'Found a Jedi who'd been meditating there since the Treaty of Corucsant.'

'He was still alive?' her mother replied, amused. 'What did you do with him?'

'We put him back where we found him, of course,' Eirn replied, smirking a little to herself at the memory. She'd always known that Jedi were insane, but Wyellet had taken it to extremes. 'And buried his padawan with him, for company,' she added.

Her mother snorted at that. 'How thoughtful of you, Eir.'

-

Between courses, between lulls in the conversation, Eirn could make an excuse, finally, to step out from the table - ducked away to the women's restroom, in search of a moment aware from her mother's judgemental, knowing, smile - or Malavai's nervousness, always threatening to feed into hers in cycles that were only ever viciously destructive. Here, though, she could be alone - the Force promised relative solitude, and with it, a moment where she could simply breathe.

(Could check her comm, switched to silent but not _off_ ; no missed calls, despite a good signal. _Alright_.)

She felt as disappointed by that as she was relieved; no dire emergency had reared its head during her quiet evening, no excuse to cut this all short had been provided. Her silent relief was shattered, though, when the door opened (in the split second before it opened, when she picked up a familiar signature in the Force; imperious concern, bundled up with well-intentioned nosiness that never ended well.

'Mother.' Of course; why was she surprised? 

Her mother's expression was all concern, of course; Eirn knew without asking that her mother had as much actual need of the facilities as she did, and was just inserting herself into the situation because she found it impossible not to.

'Eir, sweetie. Is everything alright?' Her mother's expression was mostly one of concern, though there was something else buried in it that Eirn couldn't place.

'I'm fine, mother,' Eirn replied - only becoming more tense, though, as she spoke. The evening had been - well, a trial. A trial with fine food and wine, but a trial none the less. 

Her mother, though, did not seem convinced - just studied Eirn for a moment further, before speaking.

'Honey, I know you've never needed my approval to do anything. You're as headstrong as your father. As both of us,' she added, smiling a little sadly. 'It means a lot to me that you're including us.'

'I haven't-' Eirn started to protest - immediately catching onto her mother's meaning, 'He wanted- we're not...'

'I know,' her mother said, once Eirn had given up on that sentence, 'But, sweetie. Life is short, and life for Sith - especially in wartime - is shorter. I know you're going to roll your eyes,' she added, 'but take it from one who knows. Cherish your happiness. Life without it is hardly life at all.'

Eirn had an unhappy feeling she knew exactly what her mother meant - and that she was right, even if Eirn didn't want to admit it. 'Don't worry, mother,' she replied, though - making a slightly dramatic huff, 'I'm not going to go all Jedi on you.'

Her mother at least managed a small chuckle, even if it felt forced. 'Your Captain seems like a good man, Eir.'

'He is,' Eirn replied, without a moment's hesitation. 'I know he's not Sith...' she added, bracing herself for another argument.

Her own heritage was a point of mixed pride on her mother's part, with Aetrexis's endless pride in her status as a red Sith in eternal conflict with her refusal to discuss her immediate lineage. Eirn's father might have been blind, but he was still Sith, in some small way; Malavai, on the other hand, was not Sith in _any_ sense of the word.

'Eir,' her mother interrupted, placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders, 'Does he make you happy?'

Eirn hadn't quite expected that - but she nodded, after short moment. 'He does. Very much.'

Her mother smiled. 'Then that's all that matters,' she replied, hugging Eirn again, despite her earlier protests. 'That,' her mother added, 'And the fact he's not a Jedi.'

' _Mother_!' Eirn replied, irritated. 'At least credit me with some taste.'

Her mother just laughed again. 'Come on, sweetie. We should probably get back out there, before your father starts grilling him on his academics.'

'You go ahead,' Eirn just replied, a little absently. 'I'll- be out in a few minutes.'

Her mother seemed unconvinced - but relented, after a long moment, retreating back to their table.

Her reflection continued, as it always did, to judge her.

-

Her father was doing nothing of the sort, of course; when Eirn returned, he and Malavai were deep in conversation about the battle of Hoth, and the resultant debris littering the planet's surface. Her mother, naturally, had a politely neutral expression - but her aura hummed with boredom, something that never promised anything pleasant.

'Tell me, Captain,' her mother purred, once Eirn was seated, 'Have you ever visited Korriban?'

'Only once, my lord,' he replied, glancing across at Eirn. 'I was fortunate enough to be asked to accompany your daughter after she'd been- invited to attend a session of the Dark Council.'

'Oh?' Her mother seemed genuinely impressed by that, even as Eirn _knew_ she'd mentioned this chain of events. 'Did anyone interesting die?' she added - every inch the Sith socialite in that moment, all macabre gossip and ill intent.

'Darth Baras,' Eirn replied, before taking another mouthful of wine.

'I- yes,' Malavai managed, a little awkwardly. 'I- suppose that your daughter has filled you in on the relevant details. I must confess,' he added, 'That our duties allowed for little opportunity to see the planet itself.'

'I see,' her mother mused, smiling to herself. 'Pity. Dreshdae itself is a wonderful city, especially now that it's _lived_ in again. If you ever get the chance to visit,' she added, 'I implore you to take it. Don't forget, Captain,' she added, a sort of mock-sternness creeping into her tone, 'It's _your_ heritage, too.'

Which caught him by surprise - that Eirn's mother, a red Sith with an accent that placed her far higher in the Empire's ranks than anyone else at the table, or likely in this entire city, would express that kind of thought. Korriban was a sacred world, off-limits to all non-Sith, and here was a high born pureblood woman telling _him_ that he had every right to be there.

(his surprise, muted as it was by the wine, smelled like orange blossoms; more fruit, and Eirn had to wonder if there was something else that the Force was trying to tell her)

'Now do you see,' Eirn just said, looking to him with her own slightly impish smile, 'Where I get my heresies from?'

'It's hardly _heresy_ , Eir,' Aetrexis retorted, rather haughtily. 'Honestly.'

'I will- keep that in mind, my lord,' Malavai just replied - addressing her mother, and hoping he could sidestep that segue entirely.

-

_she was back on Ilum-_

-or had been on Ilum all along, wandering those endless, creeping, crawling, corridors. She was alone, though (always had been, even in this place) - tugged ever deeper into Tagriss's foul nest by whispers in the Force. It was ever more overgrown with those growths - tendrils and tentacles, curling at the backs of her legs in the darkness, threatening to trip and tangle her if she remained in place too long. The walls were lined with those blister-growths, too, and she pressed her hand against one, before pulling back as its skin split. As it did, that slick-black-almost-blood spilled out, running down the blister's skin and over her hand, warm against her skin - and was followed, half a moment later, by a body that was far too familiar to her, in every single way. Short, dark hair, eternally refusing his attempts to tame it - faint stubble that persisted against even the sharpest of razors and closest of shaves, freckles faint enough that they were invisible until the sunshine coaxed them out-

'... _mal_...?'

He just looked at her, though - his skin grey and lifeless, his eyes black and unseeing as he lurched forward, slumping against her, his uniform soaked through with that sick, slick almost-blood that clotted and congealed in all the worst places.

(and he smelled of him and them and _rotten_ , wrong in all the ways it was possible to be wrong - stank of fear and treachery, of regrets and loss and pain and absence)

'no, malavai..' she started - holding him as she staggered back, under his weight - as he looked at her, _blaming_ her, silent and judging and (if you hadn't failed - if you hadn't run, if you'd been stronger, if you'd _fought_ -)

-except that was the one thing he didn't do. didn't lurch, didn't strike, just- looked at her, lost and disappointed as he weighed her down and it wasn't even _him_ , not really, but just loss and disappointment and desertion and regret, that slick-black-almost-blood weighing her down, holding her, _drowning_ her and she-

\- woke, with a start, cold and sick and tangled up in sheets and arms, an oppressive, unfamiliar quietness hanging over her in unfamiliar early morning air.

She couldn't get back to sleep, after that; lay awake, listening to her lover breathing, trying to resist the urge to check every inch of him for corruption that she knew wouldn't be there, gingerly tracing the way the Force curled around him in ways she hoped wouldn't wake him and hating every second of it.

(She'd forgotten, she realised, what the dawn chorus sounded like in Adessa; the way the early morning sunlight crept in under her curtains, the way the house settled as the air warmed and the ways that even the Force, in this place, woke differently than it did in others)

Eirn did gingerly remove herself from Malavai's arms eventually, though - pulled on a dressing gown and, after a brief visit to the fresher (avoiding her reflection, as judgemental here as it was in every other place), padded downstairs in search of her mother's kitchen.

To her surprise, she was the only one awake - Lira was nowhere to be seen, or- _sensed_ , for that matter. Another thing that had changed in her absence; Lira's routine had been as set in stone as Malavai's, though hers was an artefact of external demands rather than an internal need for order. Still, she wasn't about to question it - the privacy it brought her was welcome.

Eirn ended up making herself a pot of tea, and watched the sun rise through the kitchen window; listened to urban Adessan birdsong, and thought on all the things she hadn't even realised she missed.

She was joined, about half an hour after sunrise, by her mother - just wearing a soft, bright pink, dayrobe, and her hair in a single, lazy, sleeping braid, this early. She seemed unsurprised to see Eirn, who hadn't exactly been hiding her presence in the Force - but certainly seemed surprised she was _up_.

'Eir! You're awake early. Don't tell me Korriban turned you into an early bird,' her mother teased, smiling a little to herself at her own half-joke.

Eirn just gave her mother a long, dry stare, and decided not to admit to barely sleeping at all. It would only make her mother fuss, and her mother's fussing was endlessly more unbearable than Malavai's. 

'Korriban didn't turn me into anything,' she replied flatly, as demonstrably untrue as that was. 'Lira's not around?' she added, deflecting the conversation as far away from her as she could.

'I've been giving her weekends off. With just me and your father here, it seemed pointless to keep her all the time,' her mother added, sitting opposite Eirn. 'Emperor knows, she's more than earned them.'

'I... see,' Eirn replied - not entirely, but she dropped that line of enquiry entirely. 

'I see you found the tea,' her mother added, an amused smile playing across her lips. She was mollified a little by the fact the pot was still warm, and helped herself to a cup.

'It was in the jar marked _tea_ ,' Eirn replied, entirely deadpan. 

'Eir- honey, I know I asked you last night, but- is everything alright? Truly?' her mother added, frowning a little as she studied Eirn. 'And don't just _yes, mother_ me. I worry, you know.'

Eirn didn't reply, for a long moment - a reply in itself, and one she hated as soon as she realised she'd made it. 

'Can I... ask you something? About- you and father...' Eirn started - swallowing back her pride, for once, and hoping she wasn't about to end up regretting this.

'Of course, sweetie,' her mother replied, smiling a little. Eirn half expected her to make some crass remark, and wasn't sure how to feel about it when she failed to.

'How did you- I mean,' Eirn started again, fiddling irritably with her teacup, 'Father is- I mean, when you were- before you got married, was he ever- was it ever a problem,' she restarted, yet again (cursing her ineptitude with words as she did so), 'That you're- _Sith_ -Sith? and- well, that he's- not?'

'This is about you and your Captain, isn't it?' her mother finally said, interrupting Eirn's inability to form a coherent sentence - saving her from fumbling any more.

'Malavai is- always half convinced I'm going to abandon him for some _Sith_ ,' Eirn replied, that word coming out far more acidic than she'd intended it. 'He won't say it, not in those words, but...' she finished, deflating. 

'And you want to know how to convince him you won't?' her mother replied, smiling a little to herself.

'I've tried telling him,' Eirn replied, sighing 'And it doesn't- I mean, he believes me, but he doesn't _believe_ me, and- am I making any sense?'

'Perfect sense, sweetie,' her mother replied, taking a sip from her tea. 'You could try marrying him,' she added, pointedly.

' _Mother_ ,' Eirn replied, irritated. 'That wouldn't- _fix_ anything,' she added, 'It's not like- I mean, people do have affairs! Even Sith! _Especially_ Sith!He'd just- worry even more,' she finished, gesturing slightly aimlessly.

'It would show him you're serious,' her mother replied, mildly amused.

Eirn just made an exasperated noise, but offered no verbal response.

'Sweetheart,' her mother added, sobering a little, 'I'll be frank with you. We are Sith. There is... nothing you can do to ever wipe away that insecurity, not truly. Your Captain is a darling man, but you and I both know he's been ground into service of Sith his whole life. All you can do is... do your best, every day, to remind him how much he means to you. It's not an easy answer,' she added, sighing, 'But it's the only one I have.'

'I see,' Eirn replied, sighing - not as helpful an answer as she'd hoped for, even if it was still more constructive than just _marry him_.

'And if you _did_ get married,' her mother added, 'You could always take his name. That's usually good for a scandal or two, as well,' she added, smirking to herself.

' _Mother!_ ' Eirn did not see the funny side, even as her mother giggled to herself.

'If... I did, though,' she added, extremely cautiously, 'you... wouldn't mind?'

'Honey, of course not,' her mother replied, smiling a little. 'It's far more important to me that you're happy. To both of us. I took your father's name... in part to spite my mother,' she admitted, 'But... in part, I suppose, to try and show your father that I wasn't as embarrassed by _us_ as he was convinced I must have been. He'll probably never admit it, and I would never try to make him, but... it meant a lot to him.'

_That_ was certainly something Eirn could understand; Malavai had never verbalised that particular worry, but she got the distinct feeling that he expected her to be ashamed of him, even as he was frequently the one more reclusive in public.

Her mother's circumstance was more than just that, though. Aetrexis Illte had been disowned by her family for her choice in husband - a poor fate for any child but among Sith, who treasured their family connections, it was akin to having a limb cut off. Eirn had never figured out if her mother had been required to drop her family's name entirely, or had chosen to; regardless, the more acutely aware Eirn had become of Sith politicking, the more she'd realised just how large a snub - and injury - her mother had been dealt.

'Does father... still think like that?' she asked, cautiously - wary of her mother's reaction, as much as her potential response.

Her mother was silent for a moment, though, her focus all on her tea; to begin with, Eirn wasn't even sure she'd heard the question.

'It was worst after we lost your brother. He thought he was to blame,' her mother mused, eventually, 'For being away with the Service, or just- being himself. Your grandmother - my mother - had always said that any child of ours would- end up that way,' she sighed - 'And- well, Darth Orsus did nothing to help,' she added, sounding surprisingly bitter.

('Mum,' Eirn started, suddenly acutely aware of how painful this was for her mother, 'you don't have to-')

Her mother though, just shook her head, making a small, dismissive gesture; after a moment, she continued speaking.

'After your sister- after we thought we'd lost the both of you... it all came back up to the surface. He tried to hide it - I don't think he even knows I realised, but... it was impossible to miss. I don't know exactly what prompted it,' she added, 'But I can guess. Regardless,' she said, sighing, 'It still gnaws at him, after all these years. I suspect it always will,' she finished, sadly.

'Oh,' Eirn just replied, quietly. It was all too easy to imagine things with Malavai being the same way - or at the very least, similar enough as to make no odds. 'Doesn't that just make... everything harder?'

'I wouldn't know,' her mother replied, smiling a little to herself. 'Oh, I had flings before I met your father,' she continued, at Eirn's puzzled expression; 'I'll spare you the details,' she added, 'But... there was never anyone quite like him. Perhaps things would have been different if I'd found someone my mother approved of,' she mused, 'But... they wouldn't have been your father,' she added, 'and I wouldn't have had you, or your sister, and... I would not trade any of you for the whole galaxy.'

It took concerted effort on Eirn's part not to roll her eyes at that remark, in part as a reaction to her mother's melodramatics. 

'Even the- hard parts?' she just asked, dubiously - and a little bluntly, perhaps, but Eirn had always been more adept at repeating other's lines than writing ones of her own.

'Sweetheart,' her mother replied, looking right at her again, 'We are Sith. We feel pain because we _feel_. I would sooner have a heart to break than cut it out, and so would you.' She paused, at that, adding, 'I can't tell you if your Captain is worth it. Only you will know that. I can tell you that it won't be easy,' she said, 'But... we are Sith,' she repeated, with a pride and conviction that Eirn wished _she_ could feel. 'Our trials are what make us who we are.'

Which was a line Eirn had used herself, at times; which made her smile, as she remembered the dubious responses it tended to get from those who were not Sith - in all and any senses of the word. 

'Come,' her mother added, 'Enough of this. Tell me about your apprentice,' she said, smiling wickedly. 'Lord Nox shared a rumour that she's a fallen Jedi. Is this true?'

'It is,' Eirn replied, not certain how grateful she was for the distraction. 'Lord Nox was sharing rumours about me?' she added, uncertainly.

'And attempting to confirm them,' her mother replied, taking a sip of her tea. 'Sadly for her, my daughter's uncommunicativeness meant I was able to neither deny or confirm anything not already public knowledge.'

Eirn sighed irritably at the jab, but didn't lower herself to a response. 'Am I allowed to ask what you were doing out there, anyway?'

'Oh, darling,' her mother replied, her eyes lighting up, 'We're not ready to publish yet, but they uncovered a Sith burial from the time of Adas. _Adas!_ Darth Orsus has taken over the site, of course. Lord Nox was called away on some Council business,' she added, making a faintly dismissive gesture. 'To tell you the truth,' she added, 'She seemed far more interested in _you_.'

'Me?' Eirn replied, taken slightly aback.

'Well, sweetie,' her mother replied, 'This _Wrath_ business will be worrying to certain kinds of people. As you yourself keep reminding me,' she added, slightly pointedly.

Eirn just made another frustrated, exasperated noise in response to that. 'It's not as- _big_ as everyone keeps making it out to be,' she grumbled, picking at her teacup again. She'd accomplished more as Acina's executioner than as the Emperor's, even if that was probably not just heresy but treason, too.

'Not to you, perhaps,' her mother replied, 'But to those who fear the Emperor's favour, you're proof of his continuing power.'

'I know,' Eirn replied, still picking at her teacup. Her own nervous tension was out in full force, and not just because of her unpleasant dreams - even as _those_ were a secret Eirn was not about to share with her mother. 'Which is why,' she added, 'I don't like a big deal being made of it.'

Which was part of the reason she'd considered staying dead; not out of any aversion to her parents, despite the awkwardness of all her _everything_ with them, but a desire to shield them from her consequences.

'Sweetheart,' her mother said, 'No matter what happens, you will always be my daughter. Not even the Emperor himself could change that.'

'I know,' Eirn repeated, slightly absently; her mother was impossible to get rid of, once she'd latched on - like a barnacle, or possibly some kind of limpet. 'Thanks, mum.'

-

Malavai was already awake by the time Eirn sloped back upstairs; was in the fresher, she realised, more than a little guiltily. By the time he returned, the most she'd usefully done was comb through her hair, and sit guiltily on the bedcovers, trying to make herself dress and mostly trying to work out what she could say to excuse her absence - that wouldn't end up feeling like an excuse.

'Eihn,' he started, when he returned - when he spotted her, 'Did- is everything alright? You weren't here when-'

'Sorry,' Eirn replied - she hadn't meant to leave him, not for as long as she had - _especially_ not under their current circumstances. 'I'm- everything's fine,' she said, 'I just- couldn't sleep,' she admitted, 'so I went to make some tea, and then mother started talking to me, and...' she trailed off, awkwardly. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone.'

'You haven't told your mother about your- problems...?' he started, more than a little awkwardly - sitting next to her on the bed, running a hand gently - nervously - through her hair.

'She'd make even more of a fuss than you do,' Eirn replied, sighing - 'Not that I'm complaining,' she added, quickly, 'I just-'

He was smiling, though - pressed a kiss to her forehead, before sliding his arms around her waist. 'I only _fuss_ because I care, my love. I rather suspect your mother is the same.'

'I know. I just hate- being a burden,' Eirn replied, sighing - leaning against him, after a moment. It wasn't just that, either; she hated her weaknesses - that she had them, that she displayed them, that anyone was aware of them. _Especially_ that anyone was aware of them.

'You are never a burden, my Eihn,' he replied, without a moment's hesitation, and Eirn wished that she found it as easy to believe as he did.

-

The creperie was everything her mother had promised it would be - all twee decor, and music playing over speakers that was about three decades out of date. Eirn was certain that she was going to have an allergic reaction to the amount of saccharine in the air - and realised, after half a moment, that this was exactly the sort of place that Vette and Jaesa would adore.

The pancakes were good, though, and not simply because they were neither several days old, nor stolen from the _Pathcarver_ 's refrigeration unit. Even the caf was freshly ground, and served in proper china mugs that even her mother still seemed impressed by.

'So, tell me,' her mother purred, over tea, 'Are you two on vacation? Or are you rushing off on some desperate and highly classified mission?'

'Well,' Eirn replied, between mouthfuls of ziiberry pancake, 'I could tell you that, mother,' she said, 'But then I'd have to kill you, and none of us want that.'

'Oh, _Eir_ ,' her mother replied, flicking her disapproval at her daughter. 'That's not funny.'

Her father, though, was chuckling to himself. 'Please,' he said, 'No murder at the breakfast table. It took me long enough to find somewhere that does a good pastry.'

' _Rhan!_ Stop encouraging her!' Aetrexis shot her husband a look that could only be described as melodramatic betrayal.

'Sorry, dearest,' her father replied, still smiling to himself as he pressed an apologetic kiss to his wife's cheek.

'Actually, my lords,' Malavai began, entirely nervously, 'I believe that local bylaws allow for traditional settlements to be made, if done with the witness of an officer of the peace.'

'I could deputise the waitress,' Eirn mused, toying with her fork. 'Do you think that would work?'

'Only if we were in an active warzone,' he replied, entirely straight-faced - less nervous, now that someone else was playing, but still at least a little.

'Ask a simple question,' Aetrexis just added, making another one of her melodramatic sighs.

'Unless my apprentice or her entourage have been arrested in the last half hour,' Eirn replied, actually answering the question, 'Then no, mother, we didn't have any plans.' 

It was a nice feeling - not having any urgent situation that demanded she rush around half the galaxy putting out other people's fires. Part of her wanted, while they were there, to take Malavai around her hometown - to return a gesture he'd once shown her, while the weather was nice and they had time to themselves.

'See,' her mother just said, smiling a little to herself, 'Was that really so hard?'

'Yes,' Eirn replied, not missing the opportunity.

-

Breakfast couldn't be the end of it, of course, despite her mother's promises; a return to their townhouse was an inevitability, to collect their bags if nothing else, but there was something in her mother's aura that spoke to Eirn of one further trial yet to be endured.

'One last thing, Eir,' her mother said, predictably enough, 'Before you go.'

Eirn had a feeling she knew exactly what was coming - and was surprised, then, when her mother presented her with a sealed box - not _much_ larger than a lightsaber case, wrapped in soft gold silk and tied with a white satin ribbon.

'I know your birthday is coming up,' her mother continued, 'And I don't harbour any illusions that I'll see you again for a while, so I want you to have this now. Don't say anything,' she added, 'And don't- just promise me you won't open it until then. And that you _will_ open it,' she added, more than a little sternly.

Eirn glanced down at the gift, for a moment - holding it as though it contained nitro-glycerine , before looking back to her mother.

'Mother...' she started, extremely warily.

'No,' Aetrexis replied, firmly, 'You don't get to _Mother_ me, not over this. Promise me.'

'Fine,' Eirn replied, sighing - presumably it was something embarrassing, or annoying, or some combination of the two. 'I promise,' she added, at her mother's continuing glare. 'Happy?'

'Eir, sweetie,' her mother replied - her expression splitting back into that impish grin, 'I am always happy to see you, you know that.'

Which Eirn could only respond to with an exasperated sigh, even as she knew that was probably precisely what her mother planned.

'Just don't go so long until your next visit, alright?' her mother added, 'And no more of this _dying_ business, Eir.'

'Don't worry, mother,' Eirn replied, sighing, 'If I have to fake my death again, I'll be sure to let you know, first.'

'Good,' her mother just responded - before pulling Eirn into an abrupt, tight hug, and adding, quietly, 'Don't forget what we talked about, alright, sweetie?'

Eirn just sighed to herself again, at that; attempted to return the hug, even if she could never shake the feeling she was somehow doing it incorrectly. 'I'll- keep it in mind. Thank you, mother,' she added, rather awkwardly. 'For- everything.'

'I love you, my darling. Never forget that,' her mother just replied - as infuriating as ever.

'You won't _let_ me forget that,' Eirn grumbled, as though this was something to complain about. And then: 'I love you too, mother.'

'I know, sweetheart,' her mother replied - finally releasing her, at that. 'Go on,' she added, smiling wryly, 'Go... do whatever it is you do.'


	19. Exhilaration

_Whatever it is you do._

Leaving her parent's home for the second time was far easier than it had been the first - was actually something of a relief, if she was honest. At least, Eirnhaya reflected, her mother hadn't made the kind of scene she'd dreaded - all overblown Sith emotion, theatrical passion that drew the kind of attention that Eirn had only ever craved when on a literal stage instead of a figurative one. Other than her theatrics in the creperie, the worst she had to endure was waving as the taxicab pulled away - before slumping in the seat next to Malavai, leaning her head on his shoulder as the world passed them by and wondering just how, exactly, things hadn't gone as badly as she'd feared.

'I am so sorry,' Eirn sighed, 'About my mother. She's...'

'She is... Sith,' Malavai replied eventually - attempting to choose his words carefully.

'She's not just Sith,' Eirn replied, sighing, 'She's _my mother_.'

The giftbox sat awkwardly in her lap, all the way to the spaceport - tempting her, silently, to pull at the ribbon and see what her mother had decided to inflict upon her. It was a temptation she resisted, her curiosity tempered by her promise; a trivial one, in the grand scheme of things, but there was a part of her that despised letting down her parents in even the smallest matter, and this of all things seemed disproportionately important.

'She likes you,' Eirn added, though - looking back to him, at that, and attempting to grab at something positive. 'They both did. Do,' she sighed, correcting herself.

'That is- reassuring to hear,' Malavai managed - still visibly nervous, in truth. His nervousness was not quite as infectious as it had been, but it still lingered - hung in the air between them, not quite manifesting itself but only - Eirn was certain - because of his own inability to manipulate the Force.

Truthfully, Eirn was quite certain that they had mostly been happy to see _her_ \- that she was alive, that she was there, that she hadn't blamed them for Anya and hadn't decided, in becoming Sith, that she was better than the place she'd come from. Malavai was- well, he'd probably made it easier for her, she reflected, in that he gave her an excuse to be there, an idea she immediately felt guilty about; putting him through- well, meeting her parents- hadn't exactly been easy, even if it was a milestone for _them_ that she'd long owed him.

'I must admit,' he added, after an awkward moment, 'I had not expected them to be quite so...' He paused, at that; frowning a little at the middle distance as he searched for the right word, and Eirn didn't doubt for a second he was cycling through his entire vocabulary. 'Normal,' he finished, eventually; all the more awkwardly for the mundanity of the word.

_Normal_ probably wasn't a word that Eirn would have used, herself - her parents were both oddballs, for different and sometimes opposing reasons, but- that they hadn't been so unusual, well-

'Without wanting to cause offence,' he added, quickly - still glancing at her cautiously, and not much relieved when all she did was smile.

'From you,' she replied, smiling weakly, 'I take that as a compliment.'

He wasn't quite sure how to take _that_ , though - and his puzzled, slightly wary bemusement hardly clarified matters.

'I just meant,' Eirn started - not even sure _what_ she'd meant, other than it wasn't an insult - 'That- I'm- glad you didn't find them- _weird_ ,' she finished - sighing to herself, as she made it to the end of that tortured sentence. Her parents definitely _were_ weird, at least by Sith standards, but- well, Malavai's standards were hardly Sith ones.

'No weirder than you, my love,' he replied, though - far too quickly, far too _smoothly_ , and with an amused smile that was as endearing and in love as much as it was anything else.

Eirn, at that, just giggled - inappropriately, stupidly, happily. 'Well,' she said, smiling in return, 'Now you know where I get it from.'

-

_Whatever it is you do._

Eirn knew her mother probably hadn't meant anything much by it, but it was as judgemental as it was anything else. What was it, exactly, that the Wrath did when not the Wrath? She vaguely remembered the legends that they'd all heard as children (that had been made into vids and plays, that were woven into songs and whispered over campfires) - but legends, as was so often the case, were only more unhelpful the more one interrogated them.

_Well,_ she replied, silently, to herself, _I mostly have insomnia and existential crises. And nightmares. Let's not forget those._

Not that she could, really; not, at that, for lack of trying.

-

There were advantages to her only company being Malavai, and her only plans being self-imposed. If nothing else, she could sleep - could medicate herself, and only face her own judgement for having done so, and while she was never any more rested, she at the very least did not dream.

( _What if the Hand try to raise you while you're asleep_ , part of her insisted, all the same. _What if there's an emergency. What if. What if. what if_.

but that part of her could not keep the rest of her unpleasantly awake, which for now was the greatest kind of victory)

-

There was one call waiting for her, from Pierce - his daily check-in from Corellia, an insistence from Malavai more from her - and an invitation, along with it. The Republic were building up to the inauguration of the planet's new senator, and Kolya and her scrappy band were planning one last hurrah - one last swipe at their enemies, one last Imperial-sponsored act of insurgency before the survivors packed up and came home.

'The Jedi haven't been an issue?' Corellia and Jedi were indelibly tied, in Eirn's mind - the ones she'd been sent to destroy by Vowrawn, the ones who'd gotten in her way working for Acina.

'Nothin' we haven't been able to handle. There's no Sith 'ere,' Pierce grunted, glancing offcamera, 'But that just means the Jedi get cocky,' he finished, smirking unpleasantly.

He gave her an invitation, too - an opportunity to be a part of the Empire's last gasp on Corellia, a hidden advantage that could tip things far further in their favour than the Republic could have predicted. Eirn had to admit it was tempting; not so much to go to war, as to engage herself in work that did not so much as vaguely threaten to involve corruption of the Force.

'The Jedi?' Malavai, once the call was cut, gave her a look that was as worried as it was anything else.

'When we retrieved the Seed,' Eirn replied, still staring thoughtfully into the middle distance, 'There was a Jedi, and his apprentice.' She distinctly remembered issuing a threat to whoever'd been behind Acina's spies, though it was anyone's guess if the kid had actually managed to pass it along. 'Even if they're not out in numbers, they're still aware of the Empire's presence, there.'

'Please tell me,' Malavai replied, his expression less amused with this story the more she told of it, 'That you dealt with the Jedi. Permanently.'

'The rancor did that for me,' Eirn replied, a little more blithely than she intended - and it had very nearly done the same thing to her, too. She'd let the apprentice go, though \- the padawan, a terrified child in the middle of a twisted battlefield. What kind of person, she kept asking, brought an unarmed child to a fight like that?

-

Corellia, on their arrival, was a hive of nervous tension. Kolya's little hideaway was emptier than Eirn remembered it being - fewer equipment crates, but fewer warm bodies, too. She'd only stopped by momentarily, during their previous trip here, but she remembered musing to herself that Kolya's taskforce seemed more than capable of fending for itself. Now, though, the atmosphere was grimmer - the air smelled not just of war, but- _defeat_. This was not simply a final swipe, but a final stand - few here seemed to expect they truly would go home, and Eirn did not 

'Lord Illte. I hope,' Kolya started, narrowing her gaze, 'That you're not here to deprive me of your Lieutenant?'

As if proof were needed that Kolya were not a native Imperial. Still, Eirn had to reflect, it was testament to her belief in the Empire's cause that she'd lasted this long - even if she was still stuck on this rock, far on the wrong side of enemy lines.

'On the contrary,' Eirn replied, though, 'I am here to lend my lightsaber to your cause. My Lieutenant tells me that you've one final push in mind, and I'd like to be a part of it.'

Kolya did not believe her - not at first, not even after that first moment passed, but her expression eventually lapsed into something resembling a reluctant smirk. 'In that case,' she replied, 'Make your way into the briefing room. I'm sure we can find a use for that lightsaber of yours.'

-

The Senator-to-be was not, despite his attractiveness as a target, their main concern. Given a better force and more support, Eirn saw no reason that they couldn't have taken the star of the Republic's upcoming show out from under their noses (and what a victory that would have been), but Kolya - bitterly, Eirn noted - had long conceded this was even less reasonable a hope than the target they had settled for.

The Empire's last hurrah on Corellia had chosen as its target a man named Torvix, a Corellian Council member who'd once owned much of the land that the Empire had kept the Republic's forces from retaking, and who in turn had once flirted with the Empire but, in the time since, had first wavered in his commitment and now run back to the Republic, attempting to hide himself behind its skirts. The mission was a simple one; show Torvix that he had been wrong to flee, show the Republic that even now, this world was not theirs, show the galaxy that the Empire did not forgive those who tried to break their bargains.

Torvix's people apparently hadn't bargained on the Imperial forces having found themselves a Force user, though - because they took one look at her (at her stance, her armour - her _lightsaber_ ), and- ran, and panicked, and some threw themselves at her as though they'd never seen a Sith in their lives and had the temerity to gurgle in surprise when this ended poorly for them.

(Eirn, safe inside of her armour, smirked to herself at the reaction she provoked; enjoyed the feeling of inspiring fear, for once, instead of being throttled by it herself)

Despite her general antipathy towards the war, Eirn found herself almost enjoying it - the adrenaline, the chaos - if only because she didn't have to hold her breath at every corner, wondering if _They_ were lying in wait; if _Their_ guard were among the enemy, if _Their_ schemes were about to trip her up. There were no lies, no second guessing - no Sith agendas, no hidden twists, just a lot of violence and, when the dust settled, a dead Republic official, a message to those who would try to weasel out of their commitments to the Empire.

(It occurred to Eirn, as she stood in Torvix's offices - looking out over what had once been his domain, and which Kolya had reduced to barely functional skeletons of a once-proud manufacturing concern - that, for all her protests otherwise, she was, in this, every millimetre the warmonger that Baras had once been. Not as bad as him, perhaps, not yet, but even Baras had to begin somewhere. It was a comparison that unsettled her - that irritated her, souring what should have been a clean victory)

-

They didn't stick around to savour their victory, though - if nothing else, there would be Jedi reinforcements incoming once the word got out, and Eirn doubted that they would be happy to see _her_ in particular. (She kept wondering what had become of the Jedi child she'd sent back to Gend; what had become of the rotten zoo, and what might yet become of her)

They were among the last ones out, though - her and Pierce and Malavai, the latter having been volunteered to assist Kolya's medics while she and Pierce kept watch on the perimeter.

'I must be honest, Lord Illte,' Kolya started - glancing over Eirn, again, in a way that was refreshingly, tellingly un-Imperial, 'When your Lieutenant said you might be coming, I wasn't expecting you to follow through. Most Sith seem happier to pretend this planet doesn't exist.'

Eirn could understand that, at least a little; Corellia had been an embarrassing, near-crippling defeat that had left the Empire scrabbling all but for its own existence - had lead directly to Ilum, and the betrayal they had suffered there.

'And yet you've continued the fight. You should be proud,' Eirn mused, glancing out over the battlefield. Kolya managed things here that homegrown Imperials couldn't, and with a fraction of the resources.

Kolya grimaced a little at that, though. 'Honestly,' she said, 'I think Darth Arho expected us to die down here. And Darth Arkous hasn't exactly been forthcoming with support.'

Eirn couldn't help but wince, at that admission; not the names so much as what they represented. Even here, a year or more later, she couldn't escape Baras and his sphere.

'Arkous won't give you any trouble,' Eirn replied, though - Kolya had more than earned this, at least. 'I'll speak to him myself.' The Wrath, imposing on a man who sat in the chair once occupied by her dead Master. If that didn't leave an impression, Eirn wasn't sure what would.

Kolya, at that just raised an eyebrow, studying Eirn warily. 'And what will that cost me? My lord?'

Eirn couldn't suppress the smirk at that - at her brass, at the sentiment. 'Some free advice,' she replied, though - not answering the question, 'There are very few Sith in the Empire who will appreciate your... directness. If you're hoping to actually enjoy that citizenship of yours,' she added, 'You should probably try to remember that.'

Kolya, though, just snorted. 'Noted, my lord,' she replied - irreverent, apparently, to the bitter end. 

(Perhaps, Eirn mused to herself later, that was why she'd made such an impression; why, at that, she'd made any impression at all)

-

For all the benefits it brought, though, Eirn was equally not sorry to see the end of Kolya's little campaign - if only because it meant that she, too, could retreat back to safer space. Dromund Kaas would never be worthy of the word _safe_ , but it was less un-safe than Corellia, if only for its decidedly less unfriendly approach towards Sith. Kaas had never started being _friendly_ , either, but it was a planet she could at least take long, hot bubble baths on - locked away from the rest of the world, rainfall on the windows and opera on the holo and a long glass of red wine in one hand.

(Arkous refused to meet her, claiming he was busy, and over the holo, argued - an attempt to establish credibility that Eirn refused to be impressed by. A small man in a big chair, having to make up for the failures of not one but three of his predecessors - a task Eirn did not envy, even as she also did not sympathise with him a single iota)

The giftbox from her mother ended up stashed in her personal safe, though not before Eirn had spent more time than she wanted to admit wondering if she should just tug at the ribbons right away, and see what it was her mother had decided to inflict on her. Numerous possibilities had presented themselves, none of which boded well - and her thought processes were not helped by the clouding spell her mother had worked it, making meditation on the gift fruitless - even ignoring her usual sources of disrupted meditations.

(She could almost _hear_ her mother tisking, rolling her eyes and chiding Eirn for her impatience, as though she had never once been impatient to bring to an end something potentially embarrassing)

-

The other stop they had to make was on Nar Shaddaa - to collect Vette and Jaesa and Broonmark, who (if the messages on her holo were anything to go by) had neither been arrested nor needed serious medical attention, but were almost out of credits, and possibly barred from at least one more cantina. Still, it was a breather that they'd needed - a chance for Vette to spend time with her friends, for Jaesa to let her hair down - figuratively, at the very least. 

On her return to the _Pathcarver_ , though, there was some argument already brewing between Vette and Malavai over crates in the cargo bay, a situation not helped in the slightest by Pierce watching the pair of them hurl insults at each other like it was some kind of spectator sport. When Malavai spotted her, it was with more than a little relief - something which never boded well under these circumstances, though Eirn pushed that thought aside.

'My lord, we have received a transmission from Moff Orlec. He is requesting an audience with you as a matter of urgency.' Malavai mostly looked relieved to have a reason to ignore Vette, who was pointedly rolling her eyes

Orlec... the name didn't ring any bells, but that wasn't necessarily an argument in the man's favour - or against it, for that matter. Eirn had no idea of how many Moffs the Empire had, and attempts to find out had not produced any useful answers - just a series of increasingly intimidated young bureaucrats, and the growing suspicion that nobody within the Empire knew, either.

'Alright,' Eirn replied, 'Put him on. Let's hear what he has to say.'

She crossed her arms as the comm flickered into life - attempting to hide her own nervous irritation, and project a silent derisive confidence that she hoped would carry over the comm. It should have been second nature, as a Sith; it was, almost, even if she was infinitely more aware, of late, of just how much of a lie it was.

'My lord. Thank you for hearing me. I am Moff Orlec, commander of the Imperial forces in this region. I was hoping to enlist your aid, should you be willing.'

Orlec was the very model of an Imperial Moff; neatly presented, deferentially polite, and straight to business. It was impossible, over the holo, to get a read on his aura - one reason amongst thousands Eirn disliked being introduced over a comm. 

'Moff Orlec,' Eirn just replied, giving the man a long, slightly wary, stare. 'I haven't agreed to anything, yet.'

'Of course, my lord. The situation is evolving, but...' Orlec paused, at that - waiting, apparently, for Eirn to respond.

'Start from the beginning,' Eirn replied, sighing, 'But make it quick.'

'Of course, my lord. I am contacting you regarding events currently unfolding on a Hutt-controlled world by the name of Darvannis. For some months, now,' he continued, 'We've been monitoring the Cartel's buildup of their mercenary forces. I don't know how aware you are of- recent events in Hutt Space, my lord, but- suffice to say that the Hutts have recently suffered innumerable losses, and have resorted to bolstering their numbers with mercenary forces.'

'And, what's that got to do with me, exactly?' Eirn replied - tragic as it was to hear that the Hutts no longer posed even a mediocre threat to the Empire.

'I ask patience, my lord. I am simply trying to- explain the situation.' Orlec paused, for half a moment - glanced to Eirn, at that, before continuing. 'I wanted to get a team inside the cartels to allow us to have ears on their operations on the inside. Having that kind of intelligence is quite literally priceless. With the dismantling of Imperial Intelligence, we've been fumbling around in the dark for far too long. Now with all these rumours of the Cartels allying with the Republic, even briefly, we cannot afford to be caught unawares.'

Eirn just raised a suspicious eyebrow. 'And you don't think that my lightsaber might tip off the Cartel?'

'Your lightsaber, my lord, is precisely what I believe this situation requires. I had contracted the services of a reliable mercenary who has done work for the Empire in the past. She checked in after making landfall, but I haven't heard anything from her since. This was, as of now, over 30 hours ago.'

Which just put Eirn all the more on guard. 'So you suspect... what? That your people have been compromised, or...?'

'To tell you the truth, my lord,' he replied, 'I'm not certain what to think. You come highly recommended, however

What I require- what I am humbly ask of you, my lord, is that, should you desire to assist my efforts, would be to rendezvous with my people on the ground, and if necessary assist and extract them. While it would mean revealing the Empire's hand in their presence, 

'Highly recommended?' Eirn replied, extremely warily. 'By who?'

A trap as much as it was a genuine inquiry; there were some people from whom Eirn would have taken recommendation as an insult, and _some_ who would recommend her for such tasks in the hope she might bite off more than she could chew. If Orlec's loyalties were questionable then it was grounds to turn down the request there and then, _service-to-the-Empire_ be damned. 

For a moment, Orlec looked like he was trying to puzzle out Eirn's own reasons - not that he would have gotten very far, even _with_ the Force. 

'The Dark Council has supported your position, Lord Illte. And of course,' he added, 'Grand Moff Regus has spoken highly of your actions on Ilum.'

Which didn't answer her question - not in a way that left Eirn feeling reassured, at any rate. 

'One moment, Moff.' Eirn didn't give him a direct reply, though - just tapped the console, putting him on hold. It wasn't strictly impolite to do so, even if it wasn't the height of good manners, either - but was still less of an insult than discussing his proposal to his face.

'Thoughts?' she said, glancing around her crew. Not all of them were present; Jaesa was nursing a hangover, and Broonmark's interest in conversations with Moffs was... lacking, to say the least.

'It could very well be a trap, my lord. If not on the part of Moff Orlec,' Malavai mused, 'Then that of the Hutts.'

'Could be,' Pierce replied, 'Hutts'd be stupid to move against us, though. I'd like to get eyes on their hardware up close. Bet they've got some nice toys. Maybe we could pick up something for ourselves,' he added, grinning toothily.

Vette, for her part, just shrugged. 'Not even the Hutts would be dumb enough to tick off the Empire. Could just be that Moff Worrywart's merc got vaped by someone better.'

'While that is a possibility,' Malavai replied, shooting Vette a dark look, 'The Hutt Cartels have recently been rumoured to have accepted Republic aid and alliance. It could equally be the case that this mercenary team fell foul of Jedi interference.'

The Force hummed, but Eirn couldn't place what _with_ ; anticipation, caution, change. The word _Jedi_ just made her think of the theft of her lightsaber, though, and she scowled.

'I agree,' Eirn replied though, after a moment. 'Something's not right here. But if everything were right, then the Moff wouldn't need assistance to begin with.'

'So, what? We're just gonna- rock on up to this place

Eirn didn't reply to that - just tapped the console again, bringing Orlec back onto the holo. 

'Very well,' she said, addressing the Moff - 'Forward the details. We'll find your mercenary,' she mused - and perhaps some answers

Orlec at least had the good manners to offer her a grateful bow. 'Thank you, my lord. I am sending you the details now. I look forward to receiving your findings.'

With that, he was gone - the connection was cut, and the image winked out. Malavai was working on it immediately, of course - tapped at his datapad, pulling up Orlec's information and scanning through it. 

'Darvannis has a spaceport in Oasis City, which seems to be the location of the Cartel meet, my lord. It's Hutt controlled,' he added, 'But we should still be able to get landing clearance. The Hutt Cartels are still in disarray following their losses at Makeb. But- we should be cautious. If the Cartels are consolidating their power to stand against the Empire, we may find ourselves outnumbered.'

'Agreed,' Eirn replied, nodding to herself as she turned that information over. 'Vette, get the ship refuelled. Captain, I want a full systems report. Lieutenant,' she added, 'I want a complete weapons check before we go. If we're risking walking into a warzone, I want to be ready.'

'What're _you_ gonna do?' Vette retorted - earning herself a glare from Malavai.

_Whatever it is you do._

'Rouse my apprentice,' Eirn replied, 'And track down Broonmark. Oh, and Captain,' she added, 'You'll need to file a flight report for-' she paused, consulting the briefing that the Moff had sent over.

'Darvannis, my lord.' Malavai, of course, was already on top of things.

'Darvannis,' she repeated, 'Right.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fitting that this is the chapter that pushes me over 100k words. Not because of the delay (OTL) but because it's a turning point. A milestone. A watermark.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read and liked and commented and bookmarked and kudosed and reblogged and subscribed. I love each and every one of you.
> 
> Here's to the next 100k words, and getting this monster if not an ending, then at least a conclusion.


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